


Reality in Dreamscapes

by anastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Caretaking, Case Fic, Coda, Dean/Cas Big Bang (Supernatural), Dean/Cas Big Bang 2020 (Supernatural), Episode: s15e14 Last Holiday, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Ghost Possession, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Season/Series 15, Sharing a Bed, Suicide to Escape Djinn World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26832409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastiel/pseuds/anastiel
Summary: When Castiel wakes up in a strange world married to Dean, he thinks it may be Chuck showing him a version of the future. As days pass he quickly learns he's trapped there with a version of Dean similar to the real one, but jarringly different at the same time. Once he escapes, Cas grapples with the consequences of keeping what he saw a secret or telling Dean the truth.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy (Mentioned)
Comments: 221
Kudos: 947
Collections: DCBB 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had a thought sometime in July about writing a longer case fic and this happened! This story was super fun to write and I am incredibly excited to share it with y'all! Note: this fic pretends like Cas’ empty deal doesn’t exist. 
> 
> First, I need to thank [Gabester-Sketch](https://twitter.com/gabester_sketch) for the phenomenal art they created for this story! It fits so well with the vibe I was going for! The softness and unadulterated love between Dean and Cas is palpable in their art. You can find the masterpost [here](https://gabester-sketch.tumblr.com/post/631390024556019712/reality-in-dreamscapes-a-deancasbigbang-fic), but it is also embedded into the fic! 
> 
> I also need to give a huge thank you to [Bexy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/petramacneary) for beta'ing and always motivating me to better myself with every story. Special thanks to [Sam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledfoxes/pseuds/daenw) and [Ash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities) for being cheerleaders and encouraging me whenever I got stuck!
> 
> Enjoy, friends! Cheers to over a decade of Dean and Cas being in love. <3

Cas wakes to the sun streaming in through the slats of the blinds shading the windows. He rolls away from the light, covering his face from the glow with his elbow, but freezes when he feels an arm around his waist. The grip tightens and someone sniffles from behind him, and a nose nuzzles against the back of his neck. His eyes fully pop open and he glances around the room. He’s not at the bunker or a motel; instead, he appears to be in a small bedroom in a house. He notices himself first -- shirtless -- a pink, tulip patterned comforter pulled up to his chest. There’s a closet across from the bed with various shirts hanging inside: a plethora of plaid, and a few solid henleys, many of which look familiar. 

He feels someone kiss the back of his neck, short and sweet, accompanied by a squeeze around his waist. “Morning,” says a gruff voice, scratchy from sleep, from behind him. He’d know that voice anywhere. 

_Dean._

He’s dreaming, he must be dreaming. 

Heart pounding in his chest, Cas turns around in Dean’s arms to face him and feels all the breath vanish from his lungs at the sight. He’s never seen Dean like this -- so relaxed, eyelashes heavy from sleep, the freckles on his cheeks highlighted in the sunrays. His hair is sticking up on one side, fluffed from the pillow, and Cas has the urge to run his fingers through it. 

He does. This is a dream, after all. Dean sighs, mouth quirking up into the hint of a smile before leaning in to press their lips together. 

“Good morning,” Cas breathes, once Dean pulls back, looking dazed from just a simple kiss. 

“Hey,” Dean says, sounding almost loopy, a pink blush rising on his cheeks. 

Cas kisses him this time because this isn’t real and he can. He’s overeager, but Dean lets Cas lick into his mouth, deepening the kiss until they’re full-on making out. Dean drags Cas inexplicably closer, slipping his leg between Cas’ until they’re flush together. Cas’ hands slide up into Dean’s hair while they kiss, tangling it with his fingers. In this world, Dean’s hair is longer, curling around the back of his neck, not as long as Sam’s usually is, but enough to hold onto and Cas takes advantage of this. 

Eventually, they tire, lips swollen and damp, and Dean presses his forehead against Cas’. They share breath and Cas bumps their noses together, turning his face so he can nuzzle against Dean’s cheek. 

“Whataya want for breakfast?” Dean whispers. 

“Coffee.”

Dean snorts. “I meant _food_ , Cas.”

“Anything you want is fine,” Cas answers. 

“Hmm, eggs, bacon, and toast sound alright?” Dean kisses him again. 

Cas smiles against Dean’s mouth, he could get used to this. “Perfect.”

Cas has had dreams similar to this before, but this feels different. He can’t pinpoint why but everything feels more realistic. Dreams are like that sometimes, vivid in a way that has him yearning for Dean in ways he knows he will never have.

“I’ll be back in a bit, don’t miss me too much,” Dean teases. He winks at Cas and brings Cas’ hand, the one he has trapped in his own, up to his mouth and kisses the top of it. It’s then Cas notices the silver band on his own finger. 

They’re married?!

Dean’s halfway out of the room by the time Cas is able to tear his eyes away from the ring. He thinks about calling out to him, but the words falter in the back of his throat. Dean will be back soon. His gaze drops back to the ring and he rubs at it with two fingers, rotating it until it slips off. It doesn’t give right away, but he works it off and holds it up to the light. On the underside, it’s shiny, bright compared to the slightly tarnished outside. An inscription is carved into the soft metal in pretty arched cursive -- September 18, 2020. That doesn’t make sense. It’s 2020 in their current world and his dreams are never this specific. Is Chuck giving him a glimpse of some alternate world as a cruel joke? Cas’ lungs ache in his chest, reminding him to breathe. He sucks in a deep breath and traces the thick tan line left on his finger from where the ring rests. 

He’s worn this for a while, what year _is it?_

Cas slips the ring back onto his finger and looks around the room for some sort of indication. It’s a small room but neatly decorated, a wide dresser a few feet from the base of the bed with a few framed pictures arranged on top. There’s one of Sam and Eileen, facing each other and holding hands, matching lovesick smiles on their faces. Eileen is wearing a white dress, simple and lacy, a cupped sleeve falling off one shoulder. Sam’s wearing a tux, clean and black with a stark red tie. 

His gaze travels to the next picture, one of him and Dean. Their hands are enclasped, bodies angled towards each other, and foreheads touching. Both of them are wearing tuxes, though Cas’ tie is the old blue he’s had since the beginning, pressed neatly against his chest. The same band currently sitting heavy on Cas’ finger glints in the light of the picture. Dean’s grinning and Cas finds a matching smile on his own face. In the background, there are silhouettes of family and friends and twinkle lights hanging high above their heads. 

_Married._

Cas moves from his spot on the bed and walks over to the picture, picking it up to examine it. This is where Dean finds him, staring at a photo of the two of them on their wedding day, a dazed look on his face.

“We look good, huh?” Dean punctuates the sentence with a chaste kiss on Cas’ cheek. 

Cas leans into the warmth of Dean’s lips on his skin and says, “We do.” He sets the picture down, careful to place it back where he found it, and turns to Dean. 

“You know I had been so nervous that morning,” Dean admits, guiding Cas from his spot next to the dresser back to bed so they can eat together. Cas watches as Dean picks up a piece of bacon, taking a bite and crunching away on it while he continues. “After everything we’d been through, with Chuck and the world ending, I still thought it was too good to be true that this was actually happening, that you were going to be marrying me. Good things don’t happen for me, ya know?” 

Cas nods, thinking about earlier, about his astonishment at seeing the ring on his own finger. He’s still not quite sure if this is _real_. It feels different from any other dream he’s had in the past, and yet whenever Dean touches him there’s no semblance of a mirage as there is in dreams. Everything feels real.

“I understand,” Cas admits. 

Dean hand feeds him a piece of bacon, thumb dragging over the edge of Cas’ bottom lip. Cas, in his astonishment, just starts chewing. 

“You’re working late again today right?” Dean asks, licking at his fingers and grinning at Cas. 

Work. He works a normal job, not hunting. What kind of world is this?

“Uhm,” Cas stutters, glancing around the room, desperately looking for an answer. “What day is it again?”

Dean laughs and quirks his head, “Are you still half-asleep? It’s Wednesday, but I know sometimes you stay after lecture for office hours.”

He’s a professor. Cas wracks his brain for a moment trying to think of anything he could be remotely qualified to teach to college students and he comes up blank. 

“I moved office hours to next week. Not enough students mentioned that they had trouble with the readings, so I’ll be home at the normal time,” Cas lies. “You’re working today, right?”

Dean nods. “Yep, I’m heading into the garage in about twenty minutes. I wanted to make you breakfast, though. You seemed a little out of it this morning so I figured you needed a pick-me-up.”

“I did,” Cas agrees. “Thank you.” 

Dean grins, wide with a flash of teeth, eyes crinkling as he does. He looks gorgeous, a little older than the Dean Cas knows. There are flecks of grey spread sporadically throughout his hair, which somehow only manages to make him more handsome. If this is the future, Chuck’s not doing a very good job of convincing Cas it isn’t worth fighting for. 

Dean leans into Cas’ orbit, breaking him out of his thoughts, and cups Cas’ cheeks in between his palms. He kisses Cas’ forehead and then pulls back to press their foreheads together. “See you at five.”

Dean kisses him properly then, gentle, a wet slide of their lips together that has Cas craving more when Dean pulls back. 

“See you,” Cas answers, a little breathless. 

Dean waves a little goodbye over his shoulder as he heads out the door. Cas can hear the sound of his boots padding across the hardwood floor, keys jingling in his hand and the door slamming shut. He doesn’t move until after he hears the tell-tale sound of the Impala revving to life and peeling out of their driveway. 

* * *

After putting away the remnants of breakfast, Cas goes to “work.” He wanders around their little house looking for clues about this life. Now that Dean’s gone for the next eight hours, he’s half-expecting Chuck’s voice to pop out, like a loudspeaker out of the sky, telling him how he and Dean got here. No such sign comes, which complicates the situation further. This could be a dream - he’s certainly had dreams about Dean before, but none so vivid. 

There are more pictures scattered around the house. Thankfully, a few of them include Cas in front of a history lecture hall at what appears to be a local community college. At least the profession fits, as Cas _does_ know the entirety of human history by heart. 

There isn’t much that signifies anything about their current life in this future other than the pictures he finds around the house. 

He pauses when he gets to the kitchen, peeking into the fridge and finding it well stocked with a variety of food. There’s a freshly baked apple pie sitting on the center shelf. 

Cas himself feels normal. He takes a second to search internally, gauging for the flutter of electric energy from his grace. There’s nothing but his quick, even heartbeat, and the awareness that some of his muscles ache -- his calves, neck, and back -- reverberating a low level of pain. Human, he’s human again. 

Cas isn’t quite sure what to do with himself while he waits for Dean to come home. He doesn’t want to leave and risk injuring himself. If this is a dream, he’ll be fine, but if this is a version of Chuck’s future, he doesn’t want to mess with the timelines and cause this world full of peace to not have a chance of existing. 

Their house doesn’t boast much of anything out of the ordinary, filled with regular home items outside of the pictures hanging on the walls. Cas notes that there are a few from their hunting days he never realized Dean had taken. Eventually, he finds himself in the garage. 

This part of the house reminds him of the Bunker. Hung up on the walls are various guns and knives and a few bottles of holy water, all of which he recognizes having been previously stored in the Impala. There’s a wide gap in the center of the garage, presumably for the Impala, and to the left of it is his truck. 

Cas goes to it, finds the windows rolled down, keys left inside. Its faded interior looks nearly identical to the last time he was in it, just older, more worn in places, the leather coming up off the curve of the seat exposing the plush fluff beneath. He drags his fingers over the paint, right beneath the window, and walks all the way around to the passenger side. 

A loud squeak echoes against the cement walls of the garage when he opens the door to peer inside. The glove compartment is unlocked and he flips it open. Inside, there’s a faded map Dean gave him a few years ago when he got the car, torn at the edges, highway lines nearly white from being set out in the sun. Next to it is his angel blade, clean and sparkling, unused for who knows how long. He takes it into his hands, tests the weight of it, and gives it a twirl between his fingers. It feels natural, muscle memory kicking in. Seeing the glint of his own reflection in the blade, Cas wonders: does he miss hunting here? Cas puts the blade back, snapping the glove compartment shut, and heads back inside, leaving the memories with it. 

Outside the house, he finds a garden. Small and simple, a neat garden box, four lines of tilled dirt horizontally across the width. A few shoots are popping up in the soil, bright green, closed flower buds reaching towards the sky for the sun. He wonders if this is his doing or Dean’s. Gardening is something he’d like, he thinks, toiling over dirt, creating new life with his hands. 

He turns around, facing the house, admiring it in the afternoon light. It’s simple from the outside, quaint, robin’s egg blue paint covering the walls with whitewashed shutters. 

It fits them, he thinks, this house and this life. 

* * *

Dean gets home around 5:30, bringing a pizza from a local joint with him. They eat at the kitchen table, sitting kitty-corner across from each other, close enough so that their thighs brush under the table. Midway through a conversation about a beat-up ‘64 Chevelle Dean fixed today, he pins Cas’ foot under his and starts grinning like he’s the cat who caught the canary. Cas can’t help but lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, because he can, and he loves watching how Dean blushes anytime Cas shows him affection. 

They wash their plates side by side -- Dean washing, Cas drying -- similar to how Cas remembers doing so at the bunker. While he’s finishing up with the last dish, Dean’s arms snake around his waist, and his chin notches into the space between his shoulder and neck. 

“Hello,” Cas says, setting the dish down to cover Dean’s hands with his own. 

“Come shower with me?” Dean whispers, right into his ear. 

Spinning around in Dean’s arms, Cas cups his face between his hands and kisses him. “Gladly.”

They make it to the bedroom door, before Cas grabs Dean’s hips, manhandling him back up against the nearest wall and kissing him like his life depends on it. Dean melts against him, and eagerly grabs for Cas’ ass, trying to pull him closer. Slipping a thigh between Dean’s leg, Cas gets Dean to grind on him, coaxing a pitiful sounding whine from his lips. 

“Shower,” Dean groans against his mouth, fingers fumbling with the hem of Cas’ shirt before clumsily pulling it off his head. Insistently, he pushes at Cas’ chest, clearly wanting him to _move,_ so Cas backs towards the bathroom, tugging Dean along with him as they kiss. 

Somehow they manage to strip down and make it into the shower without tripping over each other. Dean’s hands are back on him the minute they get under the hot steam, touching his chest, fingers tracing the dip of his collarbones. He rolls a thumb over Cas’ nipple, getting Cas to gasp, open-mouthed into the kiss. 

“Been thinking ‘bout you all day,” Dean murmurs. He leans in and licks at Cas’ neck, sucking a mark there Cas knows will be visible tomorrow. 

“You have?” Cas asks. He feels like he’s spiraling out of control, lost in the feel of Dean all around him and the heat between them. He’s had dreams similar to this before, but never like this, where the ache of arousal is a tangible presence in his body. 

Dean drops to his knees and nods, looking up at Cas. His hands ghost up and down Cas’ thighs before making eye contact and circling his tongue around the head of Cas’ cock. He drags the head over his lips, a sight which makes Cas moan and reach down with his hand, gripping Dean’s hair to tug him closer, encouraging him until Dean sucks him all the way down. Dean’s mouth is hot, velvety soft, and Cas bucks his hips impatiently. Dean pulls back off to lick up the side and then takes him deep, bobbing his head, keeping eye contact. 

For a few seconds Cas holds back from fucking his mouth, wanting to let Dean do the work, but he’s too far gone, control slipping. He reaches down with the hand not tangled in Dean’s hair and takes Dean’s hand off his thigh and intertwines their fingers. With an easy roll of his hips, he starts fucking into the heat of Dean’s mouth and suction of his lips. 

He comes nearly a minute later, barely managing to warn Dean with a sharp tug on his hair, before coating his mouth and chin. The sight of Dean on his knees, come dripping off his lips, and his cock hard and aching pressed up against his stomach is too much for Cas to deal with. 

“Come here,” Cas groans. 

Dean’s shaky as he stands, but Cas slides a steady arm around him as he pulls him flush. His hand slides down Dean’s chest, dropping lower until he wraps his fingers around Dean’s cock, thumbing at his slit. “I got you.” 

“Fuck,” Dean whines, head bent, mouth open on the side of Cas’ jaw. 

Leaning in, Cas kisses him with everything he has, tongue licking open the seal of Dean’s mouth. They make out while Cas jerks him off, nice and slow, until Dean is shaking and panting into Cas’ mouth. His hands are gripping Cas’ hips, legs entangled. Dean’s getting close, hips stuttering into Cas’ fist, and all it takes is one easy roll of the heel of his palm over the head of Dean’s cock, and Dean’s coming all over his hand. 

“Cas,” Dean breathes, panting his name like a chorus against the side of Cas’ neck. 

They make out for a while through the aftershocks, trading wet kisses, more tongue than lips, sharing breath and holding each other until the water starts to run lukewarm. 

Eventually, they do actually shower; it’s languid, washing each other’s hair and sharing casual touches while they rinse away the sweat of the day. It’s the first time Cas has ever showered with anyone, and it’s strangely more intimate than anything sexual that took place beforehand. Allowing Dean to see him, naked as he is, makes him feel incredibly vulnerable. He wonders if it’s the human shame in him coming out, or if Dean’s open acceptance and visible love for him is too jarring to take in all at once.

By the time Cas is dried off and in bed, Dean’s back pressed up against his bare chest, he’s feeling the exhaustion of the newness of this world. Dean scoots closer, getting comfortable, tugging Cas’ arms tighter around his middle until they are fit snugly together. 

Cas doesn’t fall asleep right away, not with the warmth of Dean’s body in his arms and the startling realization of how right it feels to hold him like that. Dean, however, drifts off to sleep quickly, his palms spread over Cas’ forearms. 

If this is the future, Cas would be more than okay with this.


	2. Chapter 2

“Cas?” Dean calls out. His voice echoes in the expanse of the trees, reverberating against the tree trunks. No answer.

He ducks under foliage, a fern snapping back and smacking him straight in the face. He sputters and pushes it away with his hand, continuing on through the brush, leaves and plants crunching under his boots. There’s no trail back here; he’s not even sure where Cas went, only that about an hour ago he’d received a text from Cas saying, “I’m going into the woods off Highway 52. I think the Djinn is hiding out somewhere around here.”

That’s the last Dean heard, despite calling Cas at least five times in the ten-minute drive across town to get to the aforementioned forest.

Falling angel or not, Cas is still susceptible to some creatures, Djinn being one of them, and if this one got the jump on Cas -- well, Dean doesn’t wanna think about it, not after they just started to patch things up between them post-Purgatory.

Dean can only hope that he finds him in time.

There’s a rustle in the bushes a few yards behind him and Dean whips around, gun trained on the spot. A rabbit bounds towards him, dashing across his toes and off into the underbrush.

Dean sighs, arms going lax, his gun falling to rest at his side, and continues walking.

It’s late afternoon and blades of light stream through the trees, illuminating the emerald green of the leaves, lanterns lighting his way in the darkness. He’s not quite sure where he’s going, but he has to keep going until he finds Cas.

Up ahead, he spots a small cleared space, vacant of trees. Decaying leaves litter the ground, wispy, skeletons left over from the fall, unable to decompose as fast this far into the woods. Near the edge of the clearing stands a large decrepit house, three stories tall. Grey paint chips off the sides like peeling bark, leaving a pile at the base. A shutter hangs off one hinge on the upper basement window, precariously dangling, swaying in the breeze with a whistling creak.

If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say this place was haunted just by looking at it. A great hideout for a djinn, tucked back a few miles off the highway where it would take cops hours of searching to even find the place.

He cocks his gun and continues forward.

As he gets closer he examines the house. It’s badly withered, and one strong gust of wind could topple the whole thing over. The front steps are crooked, wide planks curved with age. They whine in protest as he steps up, wobbling under his feet. As expected, the front door is unlocked, he pushes it open and slips inside, staying against the main wall. Once inside, he digs the angel blade out from its sheath inside his boot.

Ahead of him is a grand, curved staircase, looking very worse for wear. Dean moves to step forward, but freezes mid-stride when he hears a shuffle from a nearby room. Darting around the corner, he angles his knife for attack. Inside his chest, his heart pounds erratically. He hears squeaking floorboards and heavy footsteps of someone getting closer.

A pause, then seconds of silence, broken by a guttural snarl and heavy running stomps as the djinn — Dean assumes — takes off running out of the house.

He waits to move until he can no longer hear the rustling of bushes and peeks his head around the corner. All clear. It will be back though, so Dean needs to find Cas now.

Dean checks the downstairs first, searching every room. Most rooms are empty, except for a few old cabinets with miniature yellowing dolls sitting neatly atop. Creepy dolls, man, the worst. On the second floor, the air seems too thin, and dust particles float around him like wayward gnats, highlighted in the glow of the sun.

“Cas?” Dean yells, from the base of the stairs. He glances down the dark hallway -- nothing -- and waits for a response, but the only sound is the quiet creak of the house settling.

The staircase curves upward another floor, but Dean checks all of the rooms first with military efficiency. At the end of the main hallway, one of the doors is partially open, the smell of something rotting from inside. Covering his nose with his shirt, Dean kicks the door fully open and peers inside. A body of a middle-aged man is strung up from the ceiling, hands tied and head drooping from his shoulders -- he can’t have been dead more than a few days, his body barely starting to decay, despite the stench. From the looks of it, that’s Johnathan Redder, the missing man the whole town of Cascadia had been searching for for the past week.

“Fuck.” Dean cringes and steps back out, tugging the door shut behind him. He’ll deal with that... later.

He half-jogs up the stairs to the third floor, stopping on the landing. To the left there’s a shorter hallway, ending with a window seat, looking out into the expanse of the trees, cobwebs stretching over the cushions like stray threads. To the right there’s one room, door unlatched, but mostly closed, a thin sliver of light peeking out. He grips his knife tighter and kicks the door open, ready in case another Djinn is hiding out in here feasting on some other poor soul.

He finds Cas instead.

Tunnel-vision encompasses him and he rushes forward, knife tumbling to the ground at his feet, as he touches Cas’ cheeks, feeling around until he finds his pulse point. He breathes a sigh of relief. Cas is okay, just..off in dreamland. Cas looks a little worse for wear; he’s been strung up by his wrists to the ceiling similar to how Johnathan had been, muscles lax, and his trenchcoat discarded onto the floor near the window. There’s a few scrapes on his face, blood still wet. His white shirt is stained from dirt, and his tie is loose on his neck.

How much poison did the djinn have to get into him to incapacitate an angel?

“Cas? Hey, buddy, you gotta wake up. C’mon.” Dean takes Cas’ face between his palms, patting his cheeks, trying to force him awake.

From downstairs he hears a loud slam, and the whole house shudders with the aftershocks.

“Shit.” Dean steps back and over, rising up on his toes and starts to saw through the rope binding Cas’ hands. “Cas?” He tries, louder. “I know you can hear me, and wherever this djinn sent you I’m sure it’s grand. But you gotta get out of there.”

Steps come pounding up the stairs, closer now. Dean saws faster, the rope turning to ribbons, falling like sawdust at his feet. The rope snaps and Cas falls right into Dean’s arms, Dean catching him and gently guiding him to the floor. Shoving the trenchcoat under his head, Dean pats Cas’ cheek one more time. “Don’t you dare die on me.”

The door to the room whips open. The djinn is unlike any Dean has ever seen before. Barely human and old, skin wrinkled and thin, like a walking skeleton joined the Blue Man Group. Dean barely has time to stagger to his feet before the djinn is on him, glowing hand outstretched, reaching for Dean, chapped mouth curved up into a sardonic smile. With a jolt of his knee to the djinn’s stomach, Dean pushes the djinn off of him and rolls up to his knees. The djinn cries out, landing on it’s back near the door, but recovers quickly, rushing forward to try and tackle Dean. He sees the move coming and throws a shoulder out, standing to his feet with the momentum and shoving the djinn out the door and into the hallway.

“You should leave me alone,” the djinn snarls, breathing heavily as it walks back towards the stairs. “You should leave your friend alone. He’s happy where I put him. He’ll never wake up.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “You don’t know Cas.”

“I gave him everything he wants. Even though he’s an angel, he’ll last me a good few years. Just keep him hopped up on my dream juice and he’s all mine.”

“Your poison, you mean,” Dean interjects, a purposeful bite in his tone.

“Dream juice,” the djinn repeats, smiling widely.

“Man, you really like to hear yourself talk, huh?” Dean asks.

They’re near the landing now; all it would take is one slight push to fling the djinn down the stairs. If Dean plans it right, he might get out relatively unscathed.

“I get bored,” the Djinn says with a shrug and then lunges at Dean.

Dean ducks, but not quick enough, and he feels the hot white flame of the Djinn’s hand graze his cheek. It lingers on his skin and sends a deep shiver down his neck. Darting back and away, Dean flings his leg out, hitting the Djinn in the thigh and causing it to stumble back a few steps. Regrouping quickly, the Djinn jumps forward before Dean has fully recovered, and gets him around his neck. A glowing hand reaches for his face, but Dean shoves an elbow straight back, striking the djinn hard in the sternum. Crying out, the Djinn’s grip loosens and Dean slips out of its grasp.

With a series of loud thumps, it tumbles all the way to the second floor.

“Maybe that’ll shut you up,” Dean mutters.

On the second floor, the Djinn is groaning, holding its head between its bony hands, eyes closed and crinkled with pain. Dean twirls the knife between his fingers, just once, and follows the Djinn down the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

Weeks pass and on the outside, Cas’ life with Dean is seemingly perfect. But it’s the little differences, adding up one by one, that make this new peaceful future feel off. 

He noticed it the first night. For dinner drinks Dean brought home Texas Star, the beer he’d only buy at bars if there was absolutely nothing else, instead of his chosen favorite El Sol. When Dean cooks he sings Rush under his breath, not Zeppelin. A travesty, in Cas’ mind. Or how at night, in bed, Dean sleeps on his back, not his stomach when he isn’t curled around Cas. And he doesn’t snore, which, while a welcome relief, isn’t accurate in the slightest. 

There’s only one explanation. Cas needs to get out.

It’s tempting to stay, despite the differences. Cas does yearn for something akin to this with the real Dean. They wouldn’t even need to live a normal apple pie life like this, he’d be content with hunting and being _with_ him as something more than friends. However, that idea, much like this world, is a dream he knows won’t ever be fulfilled. It’s unlikely with the threat of Chuck on the horizon that either of them will make it out of this alive. 

Today is Saturday, which means Dean doesn’t work, instead, he gets up a little later than normal and fixes pancakes with chocolate chips for breakfast. He brings it to Cas a few minutes after Cas has woken up, giving him a sweet kiss and a mug of coffee.

This is what he’ll miss once he leaves, the casual touches, the softness Cas knows his Dean has inside him but refuses to let show. He hopes that one day someone will be able to bring that side of him out. Cas will do what he needs to in order to make sure Dean has that chance. After all he’s been through in his life, Dean deserves something good, even if Cas isn’t there to witness it.

It’s selfish of him to stay longer than he should, but if he’s going to die and not get this sort of life with Dean, having it for a brief time will have to be good enough. 

“Got any plans for today?” Dean asks, halfway through his second stack of pancakes. 

It’s sunny outside, the golden rays filtering in through the window, dancing on the freckles of his cheeks and making him look even more ethereal than normal. Cas just stares. He waits until Dean blushes, and then he kisses him, short and sweet right on his syrup-covered lips. 

“I figured I’d go into the garden for a while. Tend to the flowers, commune with the bees so to speak. Do you have plans?” 

He takes a big sip of coffee, sighing happily as the semi-sweet taste floats over his tongue. That’s one thing this Dean got right, how Cas enjoys his coffee. 

Dean shrugs, biting off a big piece of pancake and chewing while he talks. “I dunno, thought I'd tune up Baby a bit. Her engine sounded a little funky on my way to work yesterday, so I should probably check it out.”

“Do you want help?” Cas asks. It’s a safe assumption he still doesn’t know what he’s doing when it comes to cars, but he’ll take every opportunity to spend as much time around Dean as he can today. 

“Well,” Dean says, in a slow drawl, lips tipping up into a smirk. “If you wanna stand there and look pretty handing me tools, I wouldn’t mind.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Cas states, as butterflies flip-flop around in his stomach. 

“Yep,” Dean says, punctuating the end with a pop of his lips. He leans in to give Cas a chaste kiss, then pulls back, and grins. 

“Does this mean you’ll wear the sunhat in the garden with me? Stand there, look pretty and hand me flower seeds?” Cas asks. 

Amusement flickers over Dean’s face and Cas feels something more heated snap between them. It’s a familiar feeling when it comes to his Dean, but in this world it can come to fruition.

Dean, ever-so-subtly -- or so he thinks -- slides the food tray off of the bed and onto the top of the dresser. “I keep telling ya, Cas. The hat only looks hot on you.”

“And _I think_ you’re wrong.”

Dean’s eyes meet Cas’, cocky and challenging. “Prove it.”

Placing a hand on Dean’s chest, Cas pushes him back onto the bed to do just that. He drags his hand down Dean’s chest, and leans in to kiss him, hands fumbling with his belt while he does. Dean’s thighs part for him, giving Cas more access. Cas takes the opportunity to straddle his hips, deepening the kiss. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Dean gasps against Cas’ lips. His palms slide up Cas’ back, pulling him closer. 

Cas smiles and kisses Dean again, licking into his mouth and rolling his hips just to get Dean to groan into his mouth. 

He takes his time, wraps his fist around both of their cocks, and jerks them off together nice and slow. Edges Dean, thumbs over his slit, until he’s trembling beneath him and begging with incoherent murmurs of Cas’ name. When Dean comes, soon after him, Cas kisses him through the rolling aftershocks. It's then that Cas pulls back to really look at him, at the swooped bow of his lips, pink and swollen from Cas’ mouth, the flush spreading bright red up Dean’s neck to his cheeks and the tips of his delicate ears. Cas takes it in, savors every breath and sound he coaxes out of Dean’s mouth. He ingrains it to his memory for later, once he’s gone from this place.

After a quick shower together and finishing off their discarded breakfast, Cas follows Dean into the garage to help him work on Baby for a bit. It’s still early, the heat tolerable for now, and Dean opens the garage door to let in sunlight. 

Dean finds the problem with Baby easy enough, well-practiced from fixing her over the years even in this false universe. The whole process takes longer than necessary as Cas’ presence becomes more of a distraction than an asset. Every time Dean slides out from under the car, shirt damp and slick against his chest, he’s entirely too distracting. Cas can’t help how his gaze openly travels down Dean’s body. He is... something else, and the oil smudges on his cheeks and biceps shouldn’t make the visual even more appealing. But it’s Dean, who manages to make everything look attractive. 

They take breaks in between switching out tools. Dean slides out from under the car up to his feet, and in the span of a few seconds Cas has him pushed up against the Impala, mouth insistent and desperate against Dean’s. Sometimes they switch, and Dean pushes a thigh between Cas’ legs while he kisses him, Cas’ back pressed up against the hood, clinging to Dean’s arms for dear life. 

It’s afternoon by the time Baby is patched up and they finally end up in the garden. 

Dean wears the sunhat, like Cas wanted him to, and lets the drawstring loops hang loose and wanders around the garden shirtless. Purposefully being a tease while Cas tries to focus and gets his hands dirty digging in the soil and planting new shoots. He steals glances at Dean, relishing in the way his heart skips a beat when their hands touch during the transfer of seeds. Cas has his own sun hat on too, which matches Dean’s, but his hat has a ribbon patterned with little honeybees wrapped around the base of the crown. 

An afternoon of easy companionship is exactly what Cas needs before he has to go. He wonders if he’s alright back in the real world. No doubt Dean is looking for him, but the djinn’s hideout is deep into the woods. He’ll live, probably; he’s still an angel and it will take a lot more out of the djinn to kill him than it would a human. 

As the sun starts to dip lower in the horizon, the day coming to an end, Dean checks in with him -- shielding Cas briefly from the sun with his body and grinning down at him. 

“Want dinner?” He asks. There’s a half-eaten strawberry in between his fingers and he takes another bite while waiting for Cas’ answer, the tips of his fingers dyed pink from the juice. 

“I could eat,” Cas answers. He finishes up watering the new plant he tended to, pats the dirt from his hands onto his jeans, and stands up. “What were you thinking?”

“Sandwiches,” Dean answers, eyes twinkling. 

Together they head inside, shoulders and hat brims bumping while they walk through the padded down dirt and tall grass leading back to the house. Cas reaches over and takes Dean’s hand in his, clinging tight.

Just a few hours left. 

* * *

After dinner, Cas elects to sit out on the back porch swing, chilled beer in hand. The air is cooler now. A slight breeze ruffles his hair and sends shivers skittering down his spine with the chill. Dean joins him a bit later, padding in with bare feet, a beer in hand, and plops right down next to him on the swing. They fit snugly together, Dean’s thigh pressed warmly against his. Briefly, Cas thinks about reaching over and taking Dean’s hand within his own, one last time to remember the feel. Too dangerous of an idea. Even this Dean knows how to make him weak, and he can’t take any chances. 

They don’t say much, but sit in companionable silence. Cas gathers up his courage, soaks in the last precious moments of this life he can only have here in this fake world created by a monster, and then breaks it all down. 

“This isn’t real,” Cas says. He avoids Dean’s gaze, but feels the heat of it on him. 

“No,” Dean says after a moment, voice guarded. “But it is if you want it to be.”

 _Fuck you,_ Cas thinks. 

He looks over then and finds Dean strangely calm, face imperceptible. Somehow, that’s worse. He almost wants Dean to be mad at him for breaking the peace. “You’re not actually Dean and I don’t want any of this.”

Dean shrugs and takes a sip of his beer, looking away from Cas. “Djinn prey on what you want most. They’re not perfect and neither am I. I am Just a version of him, but I can give you everything you want, Cas. You just have to stay.”

Tears prick at Cas’ eyes and he darts his gaze up to the night sky twinkling high above them. He notices, for the first time since he was dropped into this alternate world, that all the constellations are flipped from their normal orientation in the sky, upside down, identical to how Cas feels at this very moment. 

“Dean needs me,” Cas states. He takes one last sip of his beer, a lingering glance at the stars high above, and stands up, turning to head inside the house. 

“Does he? Does he really? Because it seems to me, up until recently you were _dead to him,_ ” Dean taunts. 

Cas can hear Dean following him, the sway of his steps creaking with the wooden floor of the deck, but he keeps walking. 

“He does.”

It’s a fact, irrefutable even to his self-loathing mind, but one that if you’d asked him months ago he wouldn’t have been so sure. Times have changed, and the real Dean has changed too. Broken down, and made himself vulnerable to Cas. Cas should still be mad about what Dean had said to him, but he’s never one for holding grudges, at least not against Dean. 

“We could be happy here. He’ll never want you like this, you know he won’t,” Dean pleads, following him into the kitchen. 

Ignoring every word coming out of Dean’s mouth, Cas continues walking away from him. He reaches the drawer next to the sink, flings it open, and rifles through it, looking for a knife that will do the trick. 

“Cas, please.” Dean grabs at his forearm, fumbling for the knife. 

Cas backs away and wrenches his arm out of Dean’s grasp, holding the knife behind his back.

Dean’s hands come to rest on Cas’ biceps, desperation in his eyes as he touches him gently. Those hands slide up to cup Cas’ cheeks, thumbs stroking over his jaw. “Don’t leave me.”

Internally he knows it’s not Dean, just a figment of whatever sort of dream the Djinn flung him into, but this man before him _looks_ and _sounds_ like Dean. And despite all pretense, Cas’ weakness has always been him. He slams his eyes shut and shakes his head, even as Dean audibly sniffles, starting to cry and presses his forehead against Cas’, bumping their nose together. 

“I can make you happy, just give me a chance?” Dean whispers, and their lips brush while he talks. Cas hates how his stomach twists into an aching knot of yearning at Dean’s words. Fighting back against the want reverberating through him, Cas focuses on the grip he has around the knife, stealthy slipping it from behind his back towards his front. 

“How do you plan on doing that?” Cas asks, playing along, giving himself more time. 

“I don’t know everything about Dean, the _real_ Dean, but I know your memories, I can get it right. You can tell me when I fuck things up and I’ll do better. I _can_ be him.” 

Angling the knife upwards towards his chest, just out of sight, Cas pulls back to look at Dean, to take one last good look at this dream he wants so badly, and yet knows can never be.

“But that’s the problem, you’re not Dean.”

He drives the knife home, straight through his own heart. Pain sears through his flesh, and he isn’t sure if the scream that follows is his own or Dean’s. 

* * *

When Cas comes to, he’s somewhere dark. He squints his eyes against the lack of light, adjusting to the drastic contrast. Distantly, he hears someone saying his name and feels the pressure of hands on his cheeks. There’s a smell of cool fresh air, and the musk of damp moss after a rainfall. Decaying wood and metallic blood. He blinks a few times and his vision starts to clear, revealing Dean, the real one, a few inches away. 

“Dean?” His voice sounds strange in his throat, scratchy and dry. His head hurts something awful. Everything goes dizzy for a few seconds and his eyes flutter shut, head lulling to the side. 

“Cas! Hey, buddy, hey it’s okay. You’re alright.” Dean’s palm is warm on his neck and cheeks, fingers rubbing circles into his jaw. 

Cas’ vision clears and he finally, _really_ sees Dean. Dirt streaks cover his face, dotted over his cheeks and forehead. There are tear stains by his nose, gaps where the dirt washed free, skin shiny in the low light. There’s a wide gash right below his collarbone, seeping blood into his shirt. But it’s Dean, _his Dean_ , and he’s touching him so delicately, so worried that Cas aches for him even more. 

“You’re hurt,” he says, weakly reaching up and pointing at the wound near Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean blinks, confused, and glances down as if seeing the wound for the first time. He laughs and shakes his head, focusing back in on Cas. “It’s nothing, you okay?”

“Dizzy, but I think the poison is starting to wear off.”

“Can you sit up?” Dean asks. His fingers slide back from Cas’ neck and stroke through the longer hairs at the back of his neck. 

Cas isn’t sure he can, he’s also preoccupied with how good it feels to have Dean’s hands on him that he can’t think correctly. “I may need help.” 

Dean chuckles and breathes out a shaky breath. “I got you.” With an easy motion, Dean moves his hands and lifts Cas up, practically cradling him against his chest. For a moment, Cas can’t find it in himself to breathe.

“Still good?” Dean asks. 

“Yes,” Cas answers, giving Dean a hint of a smile. His head still aches and may do so for a few days. 

Dean sits back on his heels, and scrubs a hand over his face, letting out a shaky breath. “Damn Cas, you worried me.”

“I did?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says like Cas is idiotic for thinking otherwise. “I killed the Djinn like twenty minutes ago. I figured that once I did that you’d wake up. But you wouldn't. I kept calling your name, trying to shake you out of it, but nothing I did was working. You were out. Still breathing, but nothing. I --” Dean’s voice breaks off and he shakes his head, sniffling. “I didn't know what to do. So I waited and kept hoping that you’d be able to get out.”

“I did. I’m okay.” Cas’ fingers itch to reach out, to take Dean’s hand and soothe the worry from him with a touch. But he can’t do that here, and that’s something he’ll have to accept. 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, smiling soft. “You’re okay.”

Dean scoots closer, reaching out to rest his hand on Cas’ shoulder. Cas feels his heart take root in his throat in response, pounding away, erratic and incredibly human. 

“Do you think you can walk? We’ve got a bit of a trek outta here.”

“Yes, my head aches, but as my limited grace returns and I am able to heal some I will be better.”

Dean looks at him, forehead wrinkled with worry. “Is it that bad? Your grace.”

Cas nods. “I’m growing weaker every day. I don’t know if it’s Chuck or the lack of angels in heaven causing the lapse in power but I fear soon it’ll be gone completely.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ve prepared for this, it was inevitable.” Cas thinks about the Djinn-dream, how in every universe humanity is a part of his future and Dean is always the cause. 

Dean doesn’t answer and Cas doesn’t expect him to. Instead, he shifts closer and taps Cas’ shoulder. “Put your arm around my neck and I’ll lift you up.”

“I can stand,” Cas protests. 

Dean makes an impatient noise at the back of his throat. “Just...humor me.”

Once he’s on his feet and standing, Dean’s arm securely around his upper back and shoulder, Cas feels a little woozy and exhausted, but otherwise normal. He takes a few deep breaths to steady himself and then looks over at Dean, who is watching him intently. 

“Okay?”

Cas nods. “Okay.”

The walk down the stairs is painfully slow, but Dean takes it easy. He’s probably babying him a little more than necessary, but if the tear tracks on his cheeks were any indication Dean truly was _worried._ Cas clings to the sleeve of Dean’s jacket, gripping tight in case he gets dizzy again and loses his footing. He’s feeling better the longer he’s awake and out of Djinn-land. 

On the bottom floor Cas sees the Djinn, corpse sprawled out next to the base of the staircase, a puncture wound from Dean’s knife going straight through its heart. Blood pools on the ground around it, creating a wide circle, and Dean steers them away from the mess. Outside the door, Dean doesn’t look back, but Cas does. He doesn’t question why they don’t stop to bury the bodies, as he wants to leave as much as Dean.

It’s deserted out here in the middle of the forest. Hopefully, by the time anyone finds this house, the wind will have knocked it over, hiding the remains of the bodies inside until centuries later. If the world lasts that long. 

He turns his gaze back to the forest floor in front of him and focuses on keeping in step with Dean. He tightens his hold on Dean’s jacket, and rests the side of his head against Dean’s while they walk. Dean doesn’t comment on the touch and continues walking, so that must mean it’s okay. Cas will pretend it’s enough, because it’s all he has. Coming back to the real world, where he can’t touch Dean as he wants, is a special kind of agony.


	4. Chapter 4

Back in the Impala Dean heads east, straight towards the bunker. Towards home. It will take a few days to get back and with Cas’ weakening state, he’s less inclined to do the long haul drive as he used to. Normally, Cas doesn’t sleep, but with how he keeps dozing off in the passenger seat next to him, Dean thinks a comfy sleep in a bed will do him good and may even help replenish what little grace he has left more quickly. 

He keeps the music low while he drives. The freeway is empty this time in the evening, just past sunset. He passes large semis and smaller family vans, their headlights bobbing like ghostly halos over the bumps in the road. Cas is covered up with his trench coat, eyes drooping, but still watching the scenery pass by out the window. He’s been quiet since they got back into the car. Dean knows he’s not feeling too hot, but something about Cas seems different and sadder. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Dean asks, a few miles outside of Burns, Oregon when he can’t shake the uneasy feeling of Cas’ silence. 

“Not really,” Cas answers, flat, almost monotone. 

“I get it,” Dean says, trying to play it casual. “It’s been ten years or so now, but I had the same shit with a Djinn happen to me. Fucked me up for... weeks. So if you wanna talk about whatever you saw, you can talk to me.”

“I know,” Cas answers. He shifts in his seat and Dean hears the leather squeak under him. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” Dean concedes. He waits a beat, taps his fingers on the steering wheel, looking ahead at the mirage of neon signaling their arrival to Burns. “Are you hungry? I was planning on stopping here for the night. Get some food, sleep, and head out early tomorrow.”

“I could eat, yes. Burgers?” 

Dean grins. “Yeah, anything you want.”

* * *

Daisy’s isn’t anything out of the ordinary when it comes to diners, except for the decor on the inside. Dean is expecting the classic fifties white table and red booth combo, but Daisy’s went the more unique route with sunny yellow and seafoam green. Addie, their waitress, a pretty blonde, seats them at a booth next to the door. She has her eyes on Cas from the moment they walk in, fidgeting with her pen as she steps up to the table to take their order. 

“What can I get you boys?” Addie asks, voice soft with a hint of a southern drawl peeking out. 

“Uh, a bacon cheeseburger and a coffee for me,” Dean answers, flashing her a warm smile. 

She nods at him and looks at Cas. “For you, handsome?” 

Dean quirks an eyebrow and fights back a laugh. He picks at the hole in the vinyl of the booth next to his thigh, watching Cas’ slow reaction and then, sudden understanding. But he only squints at the menu, suddenly very interested in reading all the items. “Uhm..” he falters, briefly glancing up at Addie and then quickly looking back down again when he notices the slight blush on her cheeks. “I’ll have the same as him.” 

“I’ll be right back with your drinks, let me know if you need anything.” She takes their menus, and her gaze lingers on Cas a little too long for Dean’s liking before she flounces away, braid bobbing behind her. 

“Boy, is she into you,” Dean states once she’s out of earshot, leaning back against the booth. 

“Clearly,” Cas deadpans, looking over at the kitchen where Addie wandered off to, then back to Dean. He leans forward and narrows his eyes. “You’re still bleeding.”

Dean waves him off. He’d honestly forgotten about the scratch until right now. It doesn’t hurt, not really. He was more worried about getting Cas back to the car and situated and finding a safe place for them to hold out in for the night. “I’ll deal with it in a bit. It’s just a scratch.”

“What happened?” Cas asks. 

Dean shrugs. “Nothing exciting, fought a Djinn, it got a little hairy and I might have nicked myself with my own blade when trying to stab it.”

“Oh Dean,” Cas says with a fond sigh, lips twitching in amusement. “I’m sorry I can’t heal you.”

“Hey, it’s okay. If you want to stitch it up yourself when we get back to the room, you can. Be good practice, right?” Dean offers.

“I’d like that, if that’s alright,” Cas answers, a slow smile spreading over his mouth. 

Addie stops by then, leaving their coffees. She doesn’t linger long, her flirtatious streak gone now, no doubt due to Cas’ lack of interest. He watches her leave and then turns his gaze back to Cas, who is taking a sip of his coffee, cheeks pink. 

Weird. Wonder what that’s about. 

They eat and Dean doesn’t order pie. For once, he isn’t feeling it, more focused on finding a bed and passing out for the next few hours. Today was more than stressful, the lingering fear of losing Cas eating at him like a second wound. He doesn’t like thinking about Cas dying, it brings back the memories from a few years ago at how fucking bad it hurt. Dean doesn’t think he could live through that again, especially not now, not when he loves Cas more than he should. 

He tips Addie extra well, an extra five, since the things with Cas won’t pan out for her. He gets it. Cas is everything, more than everything, and unattainable. At least she had the guts to try. 

There’s a motel a few blocks down from the diner, the Silver Spur, sporting a deep orange neon sign and a flashy fluorescent spur next to it. Dean leaves Cas in the car to doze while he goes to ask about a room. 

A skinny teenager is working the desk, chewing on a granola bar and bobbing his head to some peppy music blasting from his earphones. Dean taps the desk once and the kid startles to attention, fumbling with his phone to get it to pause. 

“Hi, can I help you?” Arnold, or so his nametag states, asks. 

“You got any rooms available? Two queens if possible.”

“Uh... we’re pretty booked up, but I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“Even a king would be fine, honestly man, I’ll take whatever you can give me.”

“We got a king? That work?” Arnold asks. 

Well, fuck. Dean sighs, darts a glance at the clock hanging on the wall -- it’s pushing midnight. Cas won’t mind sharing, but Dean sure does, if only because having Cas so close to him and in bed with him will do a number on his heart rate. 

Dean sighs. “Sure, why not.”

* * *

Dean finds Cas asleep, head resting on the window of the Impala, when he gets back to the car. He doesn’t bother disturbing him, but gets to work as quietly as he can unloading their duffles from the trunk into the room. Once everything is inside, he slips back into the driver’s side, moving to wake Cas, but he freezes. 

There’s a half-smile on Cas’ face while he sleeps and the trench coat is pulled up against his chin like a blanket. He looks so peaceful and relaxed that Dean hates to disturb him. An itch to reach up and card his fingers through Cas’ hair comes over him, but Dean swallows thick and ignores it, reaching out to tap Cas on the shoulder. 

“Hey, I got us a room. Might be more comfy if you sleep inside.”

Cas pops open an eye at him and frowns. “That means moving.”

“It does, and... uh, we’re gonna have to share the bed. They only had one left,” Dean says. 

Cas blinks at him, an unreadable expression passing over his face before he sighs, sitting up a little bit. “That’s alright.” 

“You need help or are you okay?” 

“I’m alright,” Cas states. He yawns wide, then pushes open the door. “I still need to tend to your wound.”

“It can wait,” Dean says, coming round the other side of the Impala. 

Cas peers up at him, eyes narrowing. He’s holding the trench coat around his shoulders and looks more adorable than Dean’s tired mind can deal with right now. “No, it can’t.”

Dean knows better than to argue about this, so he nods and follows Cas into the motel. 

Once they get their bags situated, Cas grabs the first aid kit and a bottle of whiskey and they head into the bathroom with its better light. 

Tugging off his shirt, Dean follows. He feels the warmth of Cas’ gaze on him, insistent and a blush starts creeping up his neck. Cas’ staring is always overwhelming, but now half-naked before him it feels weighted with an unspoken need Dean hasn't quite figured out how to vocalize.   


Dean sits on the edge of the sink and glances down at the wound, the seeping edge of it. “Doesn’t look too bad.”

Cas steps in close and Dean sneaks a look up at him, regretting that move almost immediately when he sees Cas so incredibly close, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he examines Dean’s injury. “It’s a simple incision, however, it is deeper than I'd thought it was. Regardless, you’re lucky.”

Shifting his weight as he reaches for the first aid kit, Cas’ knee bumps the inside of Dean’s thigh and all of the air rushes from Dean’s lungs. 

Dean clears his throat. “Guess so.” 

Without warning, Cas pours whiskey over the wound to clean it. Dean hisses and curls forward, forehead bumping Cas’ shoulder. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas says genuinely and hands him the bottle. 

Dean takes a long drink and focuses instead of the warmth of Cas’ fingers ghosting over his skin, right beneath his collarbone. Goosebumps skitter over his chest and he has to hold himself back from leaning in and kissing Cas.

Worried he’ll do something stupid if he watches Cas patch him up, Dean closes his eyes and enjoys the fleeting touches. Before long there’s the tell-tale tug and dull pain of his skin being threaded back together. He doesn’t talk or coach Cas through the process as he used to, Dean trusts him; knows Cas will take care of him. He always does. 

When he’s finished, Cas rests a warm palm on Dean’s shoulder a few inches from the stitches. “Did I do alright?” 

Dean pops open his eyes and leans in close to the mirror to examine Cas’ handiwork. “Yeah, it looks great, nice and even.”

“Well, I did have a good teacher.”

Dean blushes at that, ducking his head and shrugging on his t-shirt. “Yeah, well...” his voice trails off, unsure how to reply, but Cas is already padding back to the main room. 

“I think I should sleep now,” Cas says. He looks more comfortable now than he did earlier in the car. Dean lent him a pair of pajama pants and one of his old Stones t-shirts. His hair is flipped up on one end from it being pressed against the Impala’s window for so long, but Cas doesn’t seem to notice. It only makes Dean want to wrap his arms around Cas and hold him more. 

“You need it, maybe you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m going to call Sam so he doesn’t worry, and then I’ll, uh, join you.”

“Okay, good night Dean.” Cas smiles, small but genuine, then grabs the edge of the comfort and slides in. He pulls it all the way up to his neck, and Dean can’t help but smile at the softness of it.

“Yeah,” Dean says after a moment, realizing he’s staring. ”Night Cas.” 

He flicks off the main light on the way out the door and slips on his shoes. Not wanting to bother Cas, he goes to the Impala to call Sam. 

Sam picks up on the second ring, even though it’s around 4am Kansas time, he always answers especially when they’re separated on a hunt. It’s an unspoken agreement. Always answer.

“Hey, you guys okay? I hadn’t heard anything for a bit.” Sam asks, worry evident in his tone. 

“Yeah, we’re... okay. Cas got hit by the Djinn, but I took care of it.”

“Oh, shit. I didn’t know... angels could be affected by them?”

“The djinn had to dose him up pretty good on venom in order to knock him out. He didn’t even wake up after I killed the thing, but Cas got out and that’s what matters.”

“How is he?” Sam asks. 

“Okay, but he’s acting weird. He doesn’t wanna talk about whatever world the djinn sent him to. I mean I get why, it’s just weird.”

“Well, maybe he’ll talk when he’s ready.” Sam offers. 

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I haven’t found anything new on Chuck. He seems to have gone completely M.I.A. Don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”

“Gives us a break at least. We’ll be home in a few days, I’m not gonna rush Cas, want to give him time to heal up, ya know?”

“Of course. Take as much time as you need and drive safe.”

“I will. Bye Sammy.”

“Bye Dean.”

As he slips out of the car and heads back to the room, exhaustion hits him like a freight train. He gets back in the room as quietly as possible, careful to latch the door and go through the methodical process of salting the windows and door. Under the covers, it’s warm from Cas’ body heat, and Dean carefully keeps to his side of the bed, moving around as gently as possible so as not to disturb him. 

If he weren’t so exhausted he’d be worried about being able to sleep, anxious about his body betraying him in this close of a proximity to Cas. He’s just finished getting situated onto his side, facing Cas’ back, when Cas speaks. 

“How’s Sam?”

“He’s okay, glad we’re safe,” Dean replies, then says after a moment, “you aren’t asleep.”

“No,” Cas sighs, and sounds just as tired as Dean feels. “I am thinking too much.”

“That’s never good.”

Cas laughs, a small one but enough to shake the bed slightly. “No, it’s not.”

“You thinking about what happened today? Bout what you saw?” Dean asks. He’s not trying to pry, not really. It’s clear that something about Djinn-world is bothering Cas and Dean hates seeing him in pain. 

“Yes,” Cas answers, after a moment. “It’s difficult to reconcile what I experienced that felt so real, but wasn’t. And... that while parts were good, much of it was off, and vastly different from this world.”

“Did you want to stay?” Dean asks, voice quiet, almost afraid of Cas’ answer. 

“Yes and no,” Cas answers. “Even if... some things are missing, I’m glad I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean says. 

“It’s okay.”

“You know when the Djinn got me, I saw a world where my Mom didn’t die, which was great, but then things were off. Dad had died, and me and Sam? We weren’t close. He had Jessica, which is what I always wanted for him, but I... I was with some girl who does ads for beer, not even someone that I cared about or knew. And all the people me and Dad and Sam saved over the years? They died.” Dean pauses, choosing his words carefully. “So I get it. The Djinn are good at manipulating what you want into something you’ll start to believe for just long enough and then you figure out it’s not all what it’s cracked up to be.”

“That’s exactly what happened,” Cas says, voice quiet. A silence follows, brief, before Cas speaks again. “I’ll be okay, Dean. I just need a few days.”

“Yeah, of course,” Dean says. Neon light spreads out through the gaps in the curtains over the curve of Cas’ body a few feet away from him. It takes all of Dean’s self-control to not reach out and wrap his arms around Cas and take away whatever he is feeling. “Try to get some sleep?” 

Cas sighs heavily and shifts, tugging the blankets up tighter around his body. “I will. You too.”

Dean watches the gentle rise and fall of Cas’ body, until he can’t force his eyelids open any longer and slowly drifts off to sleep. 


	5. Chapter 5

In the morning, Cas wakes early, with the rising of the sun. The ache in his head from the remnants of the Djinn poison has subsided, leaving only an itch near his temples. He’s warm, curled up in the blankets, and something hot and firm is trapped in his arms. It takes a few seconds to register where he is. _Motel. Djinn. Dean. Sharing a bed._

Warning bells start to go off in his head and Cas freezes when he realizes his arms are in fact wrapped around Dean’s waist. He doesn’t dare move for fear of waking Dean up, wondering if he could feign sleeping without Dean seeing through it. Dean is still sleeping, snoring softly, mouth open and lips slack against the pillow. 

Taking a deep breath in through his nose, Cas releases it to calm himself down and decides to try and move. He moves his fingers first, unclasping them from around Dean’s middle, and slides his arms back towards himself. Dean shifts suddenly, snore shorting into a snort, and burrows deeper into the pillow. His hands grapple blindly in sleep but reach up and cling tight to Cas’ forearms, pulling them back tighter around his waist. 

Well, so much for moving. 

Cas thinks he might try to go back to sleep, but he’s acutely aware of every part of his body that is touching Dean’s -- one of his calves is slotted between Dean’s, his chest pressed up fully to Dean’s back -- and finds it far too distracting to even attempt sleeping. 

Selfishly, he decides to watch instead. Outside, the glow from the rising sun filters through the cracks in the blinds, illuminating Dean’s face and warming the room. Blue pre-dawn light transforms into orange, brightening and accentuating the freckles dotted across the bridge of Dean’s nose and the particular large freckle on his bottom lip. That one is Cas’ favorite, though he’d never admit that if asked. 

Dean’s eyelids start fluttering and his fingers rub absentmindedly on Cas’ forearm. He must be dreaming, something happy, not like the nightmares that normally torment him more often than Cas would like. When Cas was at full power he’d use it to ease those dreams. Dean’s snoring stops and he hugs Cas tighter against him, the blankets shifting with them. 

This isn’t what Cas expected this morning. It’s too close to what the Djinn gave him, even if it’s accidental, and already starting to toy with his mind. He worries what will happen when Dean wakes up, if he’ll brush it off or be upset. Right now, though, all he can do is focus on how good it feels to have Dean in his arms, scooting in closer and nuzzling against the back of his neck. 

He dozes off again and dreams of whiskey kisses under the stars, waking to the sound of Dean saying his name. 

“Hmppphh?” Cas asks, blearily, half awake. 

“I... uh gotta use the bathroom,” Dean says, voice quiet, and he nudges at Cas’ arms wrapped tight around him. 

“Oh,” Cas replies, suddenly very awake and aware of the hot rush of embarrassment rapidly spreading through his body. He moves his hands and Dean slips out of bed, padding into the other room. Cas’ cheeks feel hot, but he doesn’t dare open his eyes until he hears the bathroom door click shut. 

_Fuck._

There’s the sound of the sink running and the squeak of the towel hanger spinning as Dean dries his hands. Cas rolls over to the other side, away from Dean, and slams his eyes shut, feigning sleep. He listens as Dean walks back, though he doesn’t get back in.

“You want breakfast? I was thinking of going and picking some stuff up, then we could shower and leave. That sound okay?”

Cas agrees with a non-commital noise. 

Dean chuckles. “Alright sleepy-head, I’ll be back in a few.” 

A jingle of keys, scruff of boots on the floor, the swish of Dean’s jacket going on over his shoulders, and then the door clicks shut. Cas rolls over onto his back and opens his eyes. 

The bed feels cold now, with Dean’s absence. Cas’ heart is still pounding from the events of the past few minutes. He feels incredibly stupid that his body betrayed him in sleep, clinging to Dean like that. He’s still reeling from the Djinn dream, his mind confused after spending a few days of bliss there. He groans to himself, the sound loud in the empty room, and heaves himself out of bed and into the shower. 

The spray is extra hot on his skin, making it turn red. Around him steam rises, swirling up to the vent in the ceiling. Standing with his back to the spray, Cas allows the pressure of the water to ease the tension of the past day from his muscles. Earlier, when he woke up with Dean in his arms, Cas had realized his cock was half-hard and he was in danger of Dean very quickly figuring that out. He’d taken care of the issue with a surge of his grace, quelling his arousal and scooting back enough that Dean was none the wiser. 

More likely than not, Dean would have laughed the incident off, attributed it to sleeping in close quarters and Cas’ uncontrollable urges in his vulnerable state. 

Now, with the heat of the shower and his own thoughts of Dean floating around his brain, his desire has returned. 

He tends to not indulge himself, unless he can’t help it, those times when his thoughts of Dean overpower his logic. In this case, that’s exactly what is happening. Being with him in that other world, learning how Dean’s mouth would fit to his, seeing how beautiful he looks when he comes, watching how easily he fell apart from Cas’ hands - it’s too much. 

His cock curves upward, the head dark red, brushing against his stomach aching and needy. Cas slicks up his hand and gives it a few good strokes, thumb rubbing his slit, sighing softly as a jolt of pleasure rolls down his spine. He gets off quickly, chasing orgasm, letting his thoughts run wild about Dean. Remembering how good it felt to have Dean’s lips around his cock, how they grinded together that day he left, coming just like that, wanting to feel each other. It doesn’t take much to push him over the edge with how worked up he is. He comes into his fist, biting down hard on his lip to stop himself from moaning Dean’s name. 

He feels even better once he gets out of the shower, muscles lax from the heat, the adrenaline high of his orgasm still fuzzy in his head. Drying off, he ties the towel around his waist and steps out into the cool of the motel room. His duffle is on the far side of the bed, and he digs through it looking for a clean pair of clothes. Realistically, he could put back on his typical trench coat and suit outfit, but due to his weakened state temperature changes have been affecting him more lately, meaning jeans and a t-shirt are more fitting. 

An exaggerated cough breaks through his thoughts, and he whirls around, t-shirt in hand, to see Dean standing near the door with a bag of food in one hand and two coffees in a drink carrier in the other. 

“Uh... hi. I found breakfast.” Dean says, and if Cas isn’t mistaken he hears Dean’s voice wobble a little on the last word. 

“Thank you, I just need to change and then I’ll be ready,” Cas says. 

Dean seems frozen in place. His mouth is parted, eyes wide, and his cheeks flushed. Awkwardly, he gestures to the door with his hands. “I’m... uh... gonna go take my bag to the car and I’ll be back.” He fumbles with his words and his cheeks grow redder somehow. 

“I’ll be here,” Cas calls after him. 

Dean flashes him a thumbs up over his shoulder and then he’s gone, the door slamming a little too hard behind him, and Cas can’t help but laugh. 

Well, that was... _strange._ It seemed like Dean had been startled by seeing Cas shirtless. Probably because it was awkward, something Cas still fails to understand most of the time. He shrugs to himself and gets busy dressing. 

Today already feels like it’s going to be a long day. 

* * *

After the awkwardness before breakfast, they continue east. It’s overcast today, the clouds grey and puffy, low in the sky, drifting along in the wind like bland hot air balloons. Dean’s chipper despite earlier, and for once lets Cas pick the music, breaking his own rule. 

“Are you sure?” Cas asks, squinting at Dean like someone had replaced him in the middle of the night with a clone. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “I taught you what good music sounds like, _unlike Sam_ , who has no taste.”

It’s then Cas remembers he keeps the mixtape Dean gave him a few years ago in his trench coat pocket. He’s rather sentimental about it, he supposes, and even though he didn’t wear the coat today it’s spread out in the back seat within reach. He hands the cassette to Dean, smiling to himself as a very loud encompassing silence overtakes the car. 

“Shit, you still have this?” Dean says, in a tone Cas can’t quite place. 

“You told me, if I remember right that, “It’s a gift, you keep those.”

“Well, yeah, I just... “ Dean clears his throat and slides the cassette into the tape deck with a click. “Didn’t think you’d still have it.” 

Cas looks over at Dean in surprise. “I’ve not received very many gifts in my life, of course I kept it.” 

The first few notes of “ _Fool In The Rain_ ” drift out of the speakers, and Dean starts tapping along to the beat, mouth quirked up on one side, his ears starting to turn pink. 

“I’m glad you kept it,” Dean says, soft. He looks over briefly, smile widening and then revs the engine, spinning the wheel towards the highway. 

He sings along, tapping his hands on the steering wheel while he merges onto the highway. The scenery is dreary today, rain spitting on the windshield. The windshield wipers squeak when they pass over the droplets. Cas alternates between looking out at the changing landscape from tall trees opening to rolling fields and bushy tumbleweeds. 

The song changes to _“Heartbreaker,”_ less romantic lyrically and, as Dean said, when he gave Cas the mixtape, “A song to drive or fuck to.” Next to him, Dean dances in the seat, bobbing his head and belting out the lyrics. So it will be driving, not… the other option.

Cas feels like he’s always watching Dean. It’s a wonder to see him when he’s comfortable enough to be himself, like he is now, not ashamed of his off-key singing or his dancing, which he might call “dorky” any other time, to the music while driving. It took time and broken and regained trust, but Dean made a permanent place for Cas in his life. 

During an incredibly intense moment of the song Dean turns to Cas, points at him and yells the lyrics, then dissolves into laughter as the guitar solo hits. Cas laughs along with him, feeling giddy, and for a moment like they’re the only two people in the universe. 

* * *

They don’t talk much during the drive. Cas is comfortable watching the world turn around them, occasionally pointing out random roadside attractions including one particular tree he remembers from the early 1800’s that’s still standing right next to the “Welcome to Wyoming!” sign. Dean tells stories too, of different places he and Sam lived and visited during childhood, and what John was hunting. He always talks about his past with pride, but a twinge of sadness in his tone, not for missing John -- though despite his father’s faults Cas knows Dean _does_ miss him -- but for the things he missed having to grow up too soon. 

If anything, Cas yearns to give Dean a world safe from monsters so that if he chooses to move on like he tried to with Lisa, he’ll finally have that chance. And if that means Cas no longer has such an elevated place in Dean’s life, so be it. He only hopes he lives long enough to see Dean finally be happy. The glimpses Dean has given him over the course of their relationship, the unfettered joy he gets when something finally goes right, make every sacrifice Cas has given worth the cost. 

In Rock Springs, Wyoming, they decide to stop for the night. Dean spots a one-story motel off the side of the freeway, green neon flickering in big bold letters, “COUNTRY WEST DINER AND MOTEL!” After he parks, Dean releases a weary sigh and moves to get out of the car but Cas stops him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Let me,” Cas says. He squeezes Dean’s shoulder once, and doesn’t miss the relieved smile Dean gives him. 

Inside the lobby, there’s a line-up of guests at the counter, odd for this time of night. Cas waits behind them anyway, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets. A tired older woman with pin-tight curls is working behind the desk, loudly smacking on gum. 

“Hi, welcome to Country West, how can I help you?” 

“A room if you have one, two queens preferably.” Cas gives her a courtesy smile, squints as he reads her name tag. “Thank you, Elaine.”

She sighs, looking rather bored with him, and clacks away on her laptop, long fingernails amplifying the sound. “Sorry sugar, looks like we’ve only got a king left. Busy night tonight, there’s a rodeo in town tomorrow.”

Cas sighs, thinking about the implications of sharing a bed with Dean for the second night in a row. It’s just his luck. “Yes, that’ll be fine.”

Somehow, by the time he returns to the car, Dean is standing outside of it with two greasy paper bags sitting on the roof in front of him, chomping on some fries. Cas dangles the keys at him and Dean quirks an eyebrow, tossing Cas one of the bags. 

“We’re in 114, but we’re going to have to share again,” Cas states. He peers into the bag, noting a foil-wrapped cheeseburger and small cup of waffle fries. 

He looks at Dean to gauge his reaction and is surprised when Dean simply shrugs, shoves four more fries into his mouth, and says, “Works for me. I got our stuff out of the trunk, we just gotta lug it inside.” 

“Okay,” Cas says, bewildered. He finds he’s frozen in place, watching as Dean lifts his duffel over his shoulder and grabs the bag of food with his other hand, heading towards their room. 

He expected more pushback, not... this. Perhaps Dean is simply tired and doesn’t care. It’s not like they’ll be doing anything other than sleeping, even though Cas wouldn’t mind. He shakes his head to get those thoughts out of his head and follows Dean inside. The last thing he needs is a recurrence of the awkward encounter that happened this morning. His grace is returning, but that doesn’t mean he wants to use it to stifle a boner. 

“I call the shower,” Dean yells, dropping his duffle onto the faded periwinkle couch next to the door, not giving Cas a chance to respond before he disappears inside the bathroom. 

Cas spends the next fifteen minutes eating and changing into something less restrictive. He doesn’t technically need to sleep, but he’s unsure if staying awake for longer will use more of his grace than he needs, especially with it in such limited supply now. It’s better for him to sleep, even if for only a few hours. There’s a pair of Dean’s old sweatpants in his duffle and a red Zeppelin t-shirt. He changes into those and sits on the bed, listening to the sound of the shower spray ricocheting off the tiles. 

Dean hums under his breath when he comes out of the bathroom, Zeppelin -- like he always does -- and it makes Cas smile, as he thinks about the Dean from the Djinn world who didn’t. Things feel right here. Good. 

Dean is shirtless, towel wrapped around his waist. Cas tries his best not to stare at the damp sheen of water on his chest, but then Dean turns around to get into his duffle and his eye catches a stray water droplet. It drips from the hair at the back of Dean’s neck, sliding all the way down his spine until it disappears underneath the edge of the towel. 

Cas closes his eyes and thinks of anything other than Dean. He opens them and Dean is still shirtless, but wearing pants now at least. 

“How’s your wound?” Cas asks, as a way to refocus, gesturing at Dean’s shoulder where the stitches zig-zag in a stark black line across his skin. 

“Fine. Hurts a bit but I’ve had worse.”

Cas isn’t quite sure what possesses him to move from his spot on the bed and cross the room to where Dean is, hovering a few feet away, eying Dean’s scar.

“May I?” 

“Cas,” Dean says warningly. “You shouldn’t, you’re running low as is.”

Cas raises his hand, spreads his fingers and hovers his palm a few inches from the wound. “It’s my choice.” A dim glow comes out of his hand, with a low hum, and in seconds Dean’s skin is smoothed over, stitches and wound healed. When Cas pulls back, he notices his hand is trembling and not from exertion. 

“You didn’t need to do that. It would have healed on its own,” Dean says, voice quiet.

“I know, but I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean reaches out and grabs Cas’ shoulder, squeezing tight, and brushes past him on the way to bed. 

Cas’ skin tingles, warm from his touch, and he takes a steadying breath before following Dean. 

Tonight, things feel different, heightened yet comforting at the same time. Loving Dean is akin to the exhilaration that comes from flying, but being around him is the closest Cas has ever felt to having a home. He craves the closeness he wishes Dean would give him, their bodies wrapped up around one another, hidden under blankets and away from the rest of the world. They’ll come close tonight and it will be enough. It will have to be. 

As opposed to last night, they face each other across the expanse of the mattress. Cas isn’t sure why and it’s incredibly intimate, makes his chest tighten in want from seeing Dean so close and knowing he can’t kiss him like he wants to. 

“I gave Sam a call while you were checking us in,” Dean starts, voice soft. “I told him we’d be home tomorrow. He said he might have another case lined up for us in the next few days if you’re up for it. I figured we might as well keep on helping people while we still can, ya know?” 

“That sounds like a good plan. He doesn’t want to come with?”

“Nah,” Dean laughs. “I think he wants to be at base camp, keep track of anything Chuck related. Plus, he mentioned Eileen might be coming back soon. I think that might be part of it.”

“Oh,” Cas says, realizing. “So they’re serious then?” He’d known that Sam had feelings for her, but after she left, he wasn’t sure if it would be permanent. The Winchesters tend to not manage to keep people they care about around for long. Most of the time, Cas isn’t sure how he’s stayed. 

“Don’t know if it’s serious, but Sam told me it felt right, so he was gonna go for it. Kid deserves something good after all the hell we’ve been through, and if she makes him happy that’s all I could ever want for him.”

“You deserve good things too, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, good luck getting anyone to stick around me for too long,” Dean mutters. He means it as a joke, but Cas hears the self-deprecation hidden underneath.

“I stayed,” Cas says. 

Dean looks at him, expression unreadable in the dark. “You’re different.”

“I suppose I am.”

Their eyes lock and Cas feels the intensity of it like a living thing, a flutter in his chest. He’s supposed to kiss Dean now. That’s what’s supposed to happen, in another world that isn’t this one where he’s allowed to do that sort of thing. 

Dean breaks eye contact first and Cas watches as he toys with a stray thread on his pillow. 

“How you doing by the way?”

“I’m okay,” Cas lies. 

“I mean about what happened, the Djinn, you wanna talk about it?”

“Not yet,” Cas answers instantly, a little harder than he intended. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to.”

“You don’t have to, but I’m here if you want to.”

“I know. Thank you.”

He lets his eyes fall shut, briefly, and when he opens them again Dean is dozing, lips parted, hands folded up under the pillow like he’s praying. Fluorescent green flickers over his forehead from the motel sign outside, creating a kaleidoscope of patterns on his skin, like sigils, like he’s holy. To Cas he always has been. 

Unable to kiss him like he wants, Cas reaches out, hand hidden underneath the comforter, and brushes his fingertips butterfly soft over Dean’s forearm.

He may sleep, eventually, but for now he’ll watch over Dean.


	6. Chapter 6

They return to the bunker late the next afternoon. Sam is waiting for them with burgers and beers already spread out on the map table and doesn’t even make some smart-ass comment about their diets. While they eat, Sam updates them on what he’s learned about Chuck, which ends up being a steaming pile of nothing. Probably hiding out somewhere, planning his next move on how to fuck up their lives six ways to Sunday. 

After eating, Cas disappears. Dean isn’t too sure where he went, when Cas wants to think or is dealing with something, which he is, he normally heads down to the library. Dean feels clingy, still worried about Cas after what happened with the Djinn, but whatever Cas saw it must have fucked him up. He’s been alright since then, but there’s an air of sadness about him, like he’s trapped in a daydream most of the time. Dean tries to reach him, but can’t seem to get past whatever barrier Cas put up to protect himself. 

“So, how’s Cas?” Sam asks, bringing Dean’s attention back to him. 

He realizes he’d been staring down the hallway where Cas went off to, so he turns back around to Sam. “I don’t know, man. He’s acting funky and he doesn’t wanna talk about it.”

“I noticed,” Sam says. “Do you think the Djinn gave him some sort of memory from Heaven? And now he’s missing it up there?”

“I really don’t know. He’s just... sad and hesitant to talk to me about it. I don’t blame him, I just wish there was something I could do,” Dean says. He fidgets with his beer bottle, mostly empty now, but still damp with condensation. Weakening the paper label with his fingers, he pulls it off in pieces.

“You think this hunt will help?” Sam taps away on his computer and then rotates the laptop, sliding it over to Dean so he can look.

“Just another salt and burn right?” 

“Looks like it.”

Dean scans the newspaper article clipping. 

_A local woman, Sally Benson of Wind Point, Wisconsin, was found dead in her own home by strangulation with no evidence of a noose or markings on her skin to indicate cause of death. She was found by her boyfriend, Paul, an hour later after she didn’t show up to meet at a restaurant downtown for their anniversary that evening. It’s said that she was found with implicating texts on her phone indicating that the previous night she had cheated on her boyfriend. Cause of death is inconclusive, but local authorities are continuing the investigation into Sally’s death. Check back later this week in the Wind Point Star for updates on this case._

“So, what’s the motive? Kinda seems like a woman in white sorta situation.”

“Maybe? I’m not sure. It seems like she had a secret and she was cheating, but that doesn’t match the other vics.” Sam pulls up another article of a similar death from a few weeks prior and angles the screen towards Dean. “Stacey Lane. She was just a teenager, but it turns out after an investigation of her laptop that she had been hiding her sexuality from her family. She wanted to tell them but didn’t know how. I think it has to do with confessing, that if you don’t do it in the amount of time the spirit thinks you should, they come after you and punish you for being dishonest.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t even something bad, she just wasn’t ready to come out.”

Sam shrugs. “Spirits aren’t always logical; it was still a secret she was hiding from people she loved.”

“True. Alright, we’ll check it out and leave in the morning.”

“Okay, I’ll let Jody know to be ready for backup just in case.”

“Doubt we’ll need it, but thanks Sam.”

Dean leaves Sam to his laptop and God-search and wanders through the hallways, looking for Cas. He finds Cas exactly where he expected him to be, in the smaller back section of the library, sitting in one of the comfy love seats with a small book opened between his hands. From the looks of the cover -- a sinewy shirtless cowboy with an askew hat atop his head, holding a woman in a bright pink dress tight in his arms -- it’s a romance novel. Dean shakes his head, smiling to himself. Cas can be so strange sometimes. 

“You found something to read?” Dean asks. He leans his hip against the door frame and stuffs one hand into his pocket. 

Cas looks up at him, momentarily startled. He smiles when he sees Dean, glances down at his book to dog-ear the page, and then closes it with a quiet clap. 

“Yes, I wanted to read something hopeful. This seemed like it might do the trick,” Cas explains. 

Dean raises an eyebrow. “I mean, if by hopeful you mean lots of sex and graphic descriptions of assless chaps, then yeah.”

“It seems you may have read this book before,” Cas states. 

“Wait -- no, I...” Dean starts to protest and feels his cheeks start to heat up. He _has_ read that book before, in fact for the exact reason of the descriptions of Joe Sabre’s ass in said assless chaps and the girth of his co-- but that’s not the point.

“It’s alright Dean, your cowboy fetish is safe with me.” Cas smiles, ever so sweetly. Dean has never wanted to throw a cowboy hat on Cas’ head and kiss him more than he does in this moment. 

“It’s not a fetish,” Dean says, pointing an accusatory finger at Cas. 

“Whatever you say,” Cas says. 

Dean rolls his eyes as a statement even as Cas laughs at him. 

“Anyway,” Dean states, ready to change the subject right the fuck now. “Sam found us a case. Ghost thing up in Wisconsin. He thinks it has something to do with secrets. You in?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t let you go alone.”

“Hey, I’m fully capable,” Dean protests. 

Cas rolls his eyes, more exaggerated than necessary, Dean thinks. “I’m aware, but it’s safer if I come with.”

“Leave in the morning? Around 6? We’ll be able to make it in about eleven hours.”

“I’ll be ready,” Cas answers, giving Dean a tiny smile before glancing down at his book and flipping it open. 

Dean lingers in the doorway a few seconds longer, watching as Cas becomes engrossed in his book again and then makes his exit. 

_Friggin’ romance novels._

* * *

In the morning, when Dean heads down to the Impala, he finds Cas already waiting for him. He looks a little worse for wear, eyes drooping and visibly tired. Considering he has what's left of his grace back, this isn’t a good sign. Dean’s tempted to put a stop to this whole hunt and send another pair of hunters on it right up until Cas claps a hand on Dean’s shoulder and asks with a small smile, “So what do we know?”

Dean spends the first thirty minutes of their ten-hour drive giving Cas the lowdown of the situation. He has a similar theory to Sam’s -- ghost that goes after hidden secrets, things not confessed to a loved one. The only question is why and how. He flicks on AC/DC after that, opting for a change from Zeppelin, not for any reason other than it’s a bright and sunny day and “You Shook Me” was calling to him from the cassette box. 

They leave early, right at sunrise. As they drive east, the land opens up around them, nothing but miles upon miles of wheat fields turned into spun gold in the newly risen sun. Dean rolls down the windows to let the fresh air in and turns the music up louder, singing along at the top of his lungs. He looks over at Cas, finds him fighting back a laugh, lips twitching. His hair is a windblown mess atop his head, only adding to how attractive he looks. Even with that dorky tie of his flying around in the breeze and flapping against his chest. 

For a moment, Dean forgets about God, about the oncoming end of everything, and there’s nothing but him and Cas and Nebraska. 

_I love him_ , Dean thinks. _I love him so goddamn much and he has no idea._

He should have told him in Purgatory after he apologized. He’d come close when Cas pulled the smushed Leviathan blossom from inside his jacket pocket, but they were running out of time to get back so he’d held his tongue. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? They’re always running out of time. 

Halfway to Wind Point they stop somewhere in bumfuck Iowa for snacks and gas. Dean goes inside to grab some stuff, trusting Cas to fill the tank for the first time in his life. He keeps an eye on him from inside the store, ready to bust out there if so much as a drop of gas gets on the Impala’s paint. Cas does fine, and looks annoyed when he catches Dean’s eye through the window watching him. Playing it off, Dean obnoxiously waves a bag of M&M’s at him, but stops when Cas ignores him and gets back in the car. 

Because Dean is courteous and a great best friend, he grabs one of those pre-heated convenience store burgers for Cas and a blue raspberry ICEE. 

“I didn’t ruin your car,” Cas deadpans when Dean slides into the front seat. 

“I know,” Dean says. “Here.” He hands Cas the burger and ICEE as Cas’ eyes light up like a little kid on Christmas. 

“You got me an ICEE,” Cas says, in wonder. 

Dean doesn’t know _why_ Cas is so obsessed with ICEEs, not that he blames him. Ever since he introduced Cas to them about a year ago after a hunt, he’s demanded to have one whenever they stop at a convenience store. Blue raspberry or bust. 

Cas takes a big slurp and sighs in satisfaction. 

Dean smirks and revs the engine and stuffs a handful of M&M’s into his mouth. “Thanks for not ruining my car.”

* * *

They make it into Wind Point around dinner time. Dean isn’t hungry yet and Cas doesn’t need to eat as often as Dean does, so they decide to find a room and then interview the witness. 

He spots only a couple of motels driving into the small town, but picks one that seems the most interesting. Windmill Inn, as per the name states, is a gigantic white windmill. It sticks out compared to the flatness and one-story buildings in the rest of the town. On the outside it’s boring, white-washed clay-like walls with neatly painted black shutters. In the flower garden there are mini windmills stuck in the dirt like misshapen roses twirling in the wind. They’re covered in green vines, spiraling up the tiny structures, little pink blossoms peeking out of their buds. 

It has character, and Dean can appreciate that. The rooms are clean, with only a minimal smell of mothballs and cigarette smoke, so that’s more than he could ask for. They get a room with two beds this time; Dean tries not to be too disappointed he won’t get to wake up cuddling Cas by accident again. 

Once all their things are settled in the room and they’ve both changed into fed suits, they do a little research with the police department to get the witness’ address and head back out to the Impala. 

Paul Redmond, the late Sally Benson’s boyfriend, lives in a picturesque part of Wind Point. The neighborhood borders Lake Michigan, a tall white lighthouse to the right and within walking distance. Paul’s house is cookie-cutter perfect, like something out of _American Homes and Gardens_ , something Dean would have dreamed about having in childhood. He parks on the side of the street up against a freshly made curb and turns to look at Cas. 

“You got your badge?” Dean asks.

Cas isn’t paying attention, staring out at the passenger side window, forlorn, mouth tilted down into a frown. 

“Cas?” Dean tries, voice gentler. 

That gets his attention. Cas turns to look at him, eyes watery like he’s coming out of a daze. “Oh. I’m sorry. I must have been caught up in my thoughts.”

“Are you okay?” Dean asks. 

“I’m fine.” Cas dips his hand into the large pocket of his trench coat and pulls out his badge, flipping it open, upside down. “Yes, I have my badge.”

Dean smiles and reaches out, gingerly grabbing the FBI badge and flipping it the right way around. “Good. You read to go in?”

“Ready.”

Paul answers on the fourth knock. He’s pajama-clad, eyes red-rimmed with huge dark bags underneath. “Can I help you?”

Dean flashes his badge and out of the corner of his eye sees Cas do the same, right side up this time. He’s a natural. “FBI. Agent Perry and my partner Agent Tyler. Do you have some time to talk to us about Sally? We understand everything is still fresh, but if you’d like to talk to us, we want to try and help figure out what went on here.” 

Paul sighs, looks back and forth between the two of them, then scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, sure. Come on in.”

“Where should I start?” Paul asks, and Dean hears how lost he sounds, the weight of Sally’s death still so vivid. He knows how that feels, to be so completely numb and yet feel everything at the same time. He briefly looks over at Cas, remembering how he’d felt when Cas died a few years ago and the anguish he felt. Dean clears his throat and refocuses. 

“She was supposed to meet you at the restaurant for dinner, for your anniversary, is that right?” Dean asks. He pulls out a notepad and pen from the pocket of his jacket. 

“No, I was supposed to meet Sally here at the house. We were going to drive to the restaurant together.”

“So what happened?” Dean prods. He takes notes while Paul talks, a courtesy to look the part rather than out of actual need. 

“I came home from work and she was getting ready, putting makeup on in the bathroom, so I went to check on her. She seemed a little more off than normal but it was a big anniversary so I figured just nerves, ya know? And then I blacked out.”

“You... blacked out?”

“Yeah, weirdest thing. I came to hours later and she’s lying there on the ground next to me, eyes rolled back in her head,” Paul’s voice stutters and he glances away from Dean and Cas. “Dead. They’re staying strangulation, even marks on her neck, but there’s no way --” His voice trails off, too choked up to continue. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Cas says, genuine sympathy in his tone. Dean nods his agreement. 

“It just doesn’t make any sense. They thought I was the suspect, until they could find my fingerprints on her body. Nothing makes sense. She wouldn’t have been able to do that herself, but there was no one else here. Listen, if there’s anything else I can do to help you guys figure out what happened, let me know. Of course I’m upset Sally was cheating, but we could’ve worked it out. I didn’t want her dead, I just.. want some closure.”

“Could you show us the mirror she was standing in front of?” Dean asks.

Paul reacts as if stung, shock and confusion contorting his facial features. “Yeah, I guess. Why? It’s just a mirror.”

“I’d like to take a look at it.” 

Paul leads them down a long, narrow hallway and swerves left. He gestures with a hand towards an open door. “It’s in there. We bought it when we moved in, a few weeks ago at a thrift store on the outskirts of town. Some local family’s heirloom I guess, seemed pretty old and gaudy, but Sally liked the wood-lace edges. She always had a thing for vintage decor.”

Dean steps into the bathroom and Cas follows, getting as close to the mirror as he can get, tilting his head to the side and squinting. Cas drags his fingertips over the decorative wood edges, then pulls back. 

“It’s very pretty,” Cas says.

Dean leans in and pushes the pads of two fingers up to the reflective surface. It’s ice cold and stings his fingers, making them bright red when he pulls back in shock. Cas meets his eyes with a knowing look, subtle enough that it isn’t noticed by Paul. 

“Could we... take this with us? We’ll bring it back, probably. I just think it’s probably safest if you’re not here with it alone.” Dean explains. 

Paul blinks at Dean like he’s gone insane, which it probably sounds like he has. “Okay? Like I said, it’s just a mirror.”

“Yeah, I heard ya the first time. So, can we?” Dean puts on his most charming smile, hoping it can work on Paul like it works on the ladies. 

It must, because Paul throws up his hands and says, “Sure, be my guest.”

“Thanks,” Dean says. He watches as Cas tugs on the edge with nimble fingers until it pops off the wall. It looks heavy, but Cas carries it with ease, still angelic enough to have superhuman strength - and damn, if that ain’t hot. 

Not the time, Dean. _Not the time._

“I’ll take this down to the car,” Cas says, and then he’s gone, the sound of his shoes fading to quiet thumps as he heads down the stairs. 

“If we find anything, I’ll let you know,” Dean says. He holds out his hand and Paul takes it, shaking it once, firmly. 

“I appreciate that, thank you.”

Dean offers him a sympathetic smile and takes his leave, not wanting to take up any more of this mourning man’s time. 

Back at the Impala, Cas is struggling to get the mirror situated in the back seat. It mostly fits on a diagonal, though it’s a bit too wide. He goes around the other side and helps Cas pull it through the rest of the way until they’re good to go. 

Before going back to the motel, they stop at a barbecue joint to pick up food; Dean’s stomach is growling audibly. He gets a few racks of ribs for himself and Cas and a couple of sides of mac n cheese, cornbread, and coleslaw. It’s way too much food, but their room is decked out with a microwave and mini-fridge so there’s more than enough space for leftovers. 

They eat inside the motel room, warily watching the mirror for any signs of movement or foul play. It’s propped up against the closet next to the bathroom, reflecting their faces back at them in its pristinely clear image. 

“So,” Dean starts, munching on a piece of buttery cornbread. “Definitely ghost possession right?”

“Right,” Cas agrees. He seems to be finished eating and is now in the process of delicately licking barbecue sauce from the ribs off each of his fingers, slowly driving Dean insane. Apparently, Cas is unable to use wet wipes like a regular person, and instead chose the sexually frustrating way to get clean. 

“When I touched _that thing_ earlier,” Dean says, with disgust, gesturing at the mirror. "It felt cold, like someone had put it in the freezer to chill for a while before making a nice margarita.”

“Oh?” Cas asks. He freezes, a finger sucked into his mouth, looking contemplatively at the mirror. 

Dean takes an aggressively big bite of his cornbread. 

Cas gets up from his spot on the opposite bed and crosses to the mirror. Gingerly, he reaches out and touches the smooth surface, jerking his hand back almost immediately after making contact. “That’s... strange.”

“So, is the ghost traveling around from mirror to mirror by jumping people? Or is it just this specific mirror?” Dean asks. 

Cas frowns, sitting back down on the bed and looks over at Dean. “I think we need to do some research on the previous victim.”

Dean sighs, nodding in agreement and starts putting away the takeout containers to make room on the bed for his laptop. Just what he wanted. More research


	7. Chapter 7

After an hour of searching, Cas finds something. He’s digging through one of the local antique store’s recent sale records, pulled from an online database Sam hacked a few months ago that greatly improved their sleuthing abilities. Farren Dent was the previous victim of the mirror ghost, and her family had sold most of her possessions to local stores when she died - including the lace-edged mirror. The mirror itself traced back to a founding family of Wind Point, the Jeffersons, whose last living member, the widow of old Mr. Johnson, committed suicide after learning about her husband’s torrid affairs from reading his journals after his death. 

It’s grim and Cas pities her, that even in death she would be forced to relive trauma and force others to take revenge. But she was way off for some victims. Farren, for instance, never cheated but had been keeping the secret of her college acceptance from her family; according to police reports, she was planning on surprising them with the news later on in the summer. To Verna Johnson, this was a grave misdeed, and Farren lost her life for it at the hands of her own family. 

“Dean,” Cas says, once he’s certain. “The ghost isn’t traveling, it’s attached to the mirror.”

He looks up from his laptop, bright screen meaning he has to blink his eyes to adjust to the room. He looks over to Dean and finds Dean staring back at him with an intense gaze, a sardonic smirk playing on his lips. 

“I know,” Dean’s voice says, but it’s not _Dean_ , Cas knows this instantly. It’s Verna. 

Cas stumbles up from the bed, laptop sliding off his lap and onto the comforter. He steps closer, gauging internally if he has enough grace to exorcise the ghost from Dean’s body and not hurt him. He doesn’t. “Get out of him.”

Verna laughs, throwing her head back. It comes out more like a cackle. The laptop on her lap snaps shut and robotically she pushes it away, standing up to her feet and stalking towards Cas. She pauses near Dean’s bag, reaching in and grabbing the angel blade, gripping it firmly in her hand. 

“Not gonna happen. He’s all mine, at least until after he pushes this pretty little angel blade through your heart.” Verna spins the blade between her fingers, angling the deadly end towards Cas. There’s a saunter in her walk, so unlike Dean’s.

“Why me?” Cas asks, trying to give himself some time. Mentally, he catalogs where Dean put his lighter. It’s usually in his pants pocket, but he always has a spare in his bag somewhere. Out of the corner of his eye, Cas sees the can of salt resting on the ledge beneath the window. If he could just grab the salt and find the lighter, he could end this. 

“You have secrets, Castiel. About what you saw in your _dream._ About how you feel for Dean, how you always have. And I don’t like secrets, they only cause pain.” Verna pauses a few feet from Cas, tilts her head and taps a finger on her lip. “It seems as though you’ve already caused him so much pain, but you won’t any more.” Verna’s face darkens and she tightens her grip on the angel blade. 

“Dean,” Cas says, firm, ducking as Verna takes a swing at him, the blade whooshing through the air above his head. “Fight this.”

Their fists meet and then forearms. Verna deals a heavy kick to Cas’ stomach, making him double over and stumble back towards the door. 

“Oh he’s trying, but he’s not strong enough,” Verna says, pouting sarcastically. 

“You’re wrong,” Cas says. “Dean!” The blade bangs against Cas’ wrist. “I know you can hear me, you don’t want to hurt me.”

Verna laughs at him, and in Dean’s voice it hurts more than it should. She lunges at him and this time Cas grabs her wrist, jerking it around her back and forcing her grip to loosen so the blade clatters to the ground. Swinging her arm free, Verna backhands Cas right across the face. It knocks him a few feet backwards, giving Verna time to reach down for the angel blade. 

“Why do you keep trying? So stubborn,” Verna says, clucking her tongue. “You really should have stayed with the djinn, Castiel. At least there, he would have cared about you. Here, you’re just a burden.”

“Shut up,” Cas yells. The words spewing out of Dean’s mouth aren’t true, meant only to taunt him. He knows it’s not true. A few months ago he might have believed her, but he and Dean are good now. They really are. 

Verna moves forward, swinging the angel blade like it’s a baton. Cas stays back, waiting for Verna to come at him first; he won’t hurt Dean, not if he doesn’t have to. Lunging low, Verna goes for his thigh, but Cas moves too fast, jerking to the side and grabbing hold of Verna’s forearm. The blade swings around, aiming for his head, but Cas ducks, slipping under Verna’s trapped arm and snatching the other, pinning them behind her back. 

Cas gains the upper hand, just barely, and spins Verna around, pushing her up against the nearest wall. Her cheek’s squished against the floral wallpaper, and he holds her still as he can.

“Come back to me,” Cas says. He grabs Dean’s bicep, covering the spot where the mark of his handprint used to be. Focusing his energy on his limited grace, he forces as much of it as he can muster directly into Dean’s arm, rejoining their connection. A rush of electricity flows back through him, zinging through his body, lighting up Dean’s arm with a neon blue handprint. 

“Cas?” Dean says weakly, going slack in Cas’ arms. 

“Dean,” Cas says, relieved, releasing his grip and taking the angel blade from Dean’s other hand. 

Dean falls to his knees, crying out in pain. “She’s one strong motherfucker, you gotta hurry. Get the lighter, it’s in the front pocket of my bag.”

Cas rushes to the table to snatch the salt can and then hustles to Dean’s bag, rifling through it until he finds the lighter. Across the room, Dean whimpers and Cas freezes when he catches sight of him. He’s visibly sweating, a pained expression on his face, gripping the front of his chest. 

“I got her, light it up,” he says, and then lets out a groan as Verna fights back for control. 

Kicking the mirror flat onto the floor, Cas dumps the entire can of salt on top of his reflection. He flicks the lighter a few times and it doesn’t budge. He steals a glance at Dean -- still him, but he’s fading fast. Finally, on try five, the lighter bursts to life and Cas drops the whole thing right on top of the mirror. 

It takes a second to light, but it catches on the old, dried wood and quickly ignites bright and hot. He looks to Dean and sees a bright shot of orange flame leave his body, rush towards the mirror, then disappear skyward into the ceiling. 

As soon as Verna’s soul vanishes, Cas grabs the ice bucket off the counter. He fills it with water, then pours it over the fire until it’s a pile of smoking embers. Smoke feels the room like relief in his body. The fire alarm in this place must be faulty, but in this case it’s quite fortunate. They’ll be long gone in the morning before they have to explain the charred mess of the floor. 

The ice bucket falls from Cas’ fingers, clattering to the floor, and he crosses to Dean, who is still on his knees near the wall. He’s panting and shaking, and it’s difficult to see even if he’s likely fine now.

“Dean, are you alright?” Cas kneels next to him. Adrenaline and worry make him move without thinking, and he cradles Dean’s cheek with his palm. His skin is damp and clammy to the touch, he’s trembling, and Cas has to hold himself back from pulling Dean into his arms. 

Dean looks at him, their eyes meeting. If Cas isn’t mistaken, he leans into the touch of Cas’ hand. “Yeah,” he says, soft. “I think so. Just feels like I got the wind knocked outta me.”

He laughs and it makes him cough a few times with all the smoke. Cas’ hand drops from Dean’s face to his back, rubbing wide comforting circles on the back of his shirt. He lets the touch continue as Dean comes back to himself. 

It’s dark inside the room, and the flickering of the bathroom’s light only makes it eerier. The smell of burnt wood is overpowering, remnants of smoke lingering in the air. The room feels like the aftermath of a war, which is not inaccurate. Cas lets his eyes track over Dean’s face; he sees a resolute look there, one that means Dean’s desperately trying to keep his walls closed up but struggling to do so. Cas wonders what Verna told him, what she tried to convince him of. 

“We need to talk,” Dean says, moments later, quiet but in a voice that brooks no argument. 

Cas had no intention to refuse him, but he still sees his fate sealing before his eyes, regret already filling him at how he’d resisted telling Dean earlier. They would not have been in this situation if he had. He nods slowly, rising to his feet, fingers trailing up Dean’s back and away as he stands, one last touch before it’s all inevitably ripped away. “We do.”

He sits on one of the beds, facing the other, folding his hands in his lap. Dean matches him, sitting on the opposite bed. It’s already too far away for Cas’ liking. 

“So,” Dean starts, then pauses, licking his lips. “What are you not telling me?”

“Where should I start?” Cas asks. 

“Is it about what the Djinn showed you -- or did I do something?” Dean asks, throwing up his hands. 

There’s frustration and uncertainty in Dean’s tone. Cas wants nothing more to soothe that worry, instead, he knows his words will only bring pain. After Purgatory, they’d been doing so well together. Better than ever. Even though Cas craved more, he was content with what Dean gave him. If this is the final straw, at least he will have been honest. He’s always loved Dean too much; it’s only fitting that it’s that love that drives them apart. 

“The djinn,” Cas says. He looks up and meets Dean’s gaze. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Dean nods, visibly relieved. “So, what happened in the dream?”

Cas sucks in a deep breath, darts his eyes down to his lap. He fidgets with his hands for a moment, gathering courage, and then begins. “I thought, at first, it wasn’t a dream. I thought Chuck was showing me some version of the future. It seemed logical he might try to trick me, convince me of a future where I could be happy.” He chuckles darkly, “How wrong I was.”

“Where were you?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know. It looked like Kansas, might have even been Lebanon. I was in a house, a small one, very Stepford as you would say. You were there, and we were... normal. No hunting, no monsters, no God -- just us. A college history teacher and a mechanic with a garage full of hunting weapons starting to rust from lack of use.”

“That _does_ sound like a dream,” Dean states, in wonder. 

“We were married,” Cas says, and looks up then, watching as shock registers on Dean’s face. He doesn’t run out of the room, doesn’t get angry, so Cas continues. “Silver band and everything. Sam and Eileen were married too. There were pictures of all of us everywhere, we seemed... sentimental.” 

“Married?” Dean repeats.

“Yes.” Cas won’t dare look at him, not now. He focuses on the quick thump of his own heart in his chest, slowly feeling like he’s falling over the precipice. There’s a gap of silence, louder with the gravity of what’s being said between them. 

“But... you didn’t stay?” Dean asks, after a moment, voice quiet and confused. 

“It wasn’t real.”

“I know, but when you’re there it feels real. When I got hit by a Djinn, it took a lot to get me to realize it wasn’t, how did you get out?” Dean asks. 

“I was there for a few days. At first, it was... wonderful,” Cas says, pausing, wistful in the phantom memory of Dean’s hands on him. “And then I started to notice things about you that... weren’t _you._ You bought Texas Star beer instead of El Sol, sang Rush under your breath when doing dishes. It was just _off_.”

“What else?”

“You didn’t sing very loudly and off-key in the shower, you said my name differently, your burgers didn’t taste as good.”

“So you left,” Dean states.

“It wasn’t you. He begged me to stay and a part of me wanted to even with all of the wrong things because I wanted what he gave me that I know you can’t. I want the real you. The one I pulled from hell so many years ago, the one I died for, the one I gave up everything for to stand by his side. No one else.”

“Cas.” Dean says his name like he’s wounded, a pained noise in the back of his throat. He scrubs a hand over his face, and it’s at that moment Cas notices unshed tears in his eyes. “You think that I don’t?” His voice cuts off and he gets up from the other bed, moving to sit on the edge of the bed next to Cas. Dean turns towards him and their kneecaps brush. With a shaking hand, he reaches out and covers Cas’ own hand. 

Inside his chest, Cas' heart flips with something that feels a little bit like hope. 

“You terrify me,” Dean says. Cas squints at him in confusion and Dean huffs out a nervous laugh, squeezing his hand. “Shit, no, I mean... how I feel about you terrifies me.”

Cas moves his hand, curving it up so their palms are facing each other, and slips his fingers between Dean’s. “Why?”

“I’ve never loved anyone like this. Never. You’re my best friend and that should be enough, but I look at you and deep in my chest there’s this ache that no matter who I fuck, no matter how mad at you I get, how hard I try to push you away sometimes, it never goes away. And I want this,” Dean says, gesturing back and forth between them. “If you’ll have me.” He looks up at Cas, eyes sparkling with hope, a small smile playing on his lips. 

With his free hand, Cas reaches up and caresses the side of Dean’s cheek, thumb stroking down his jawline. Dean turns his face into Cas’ palm, eyes fluttering shut, and presses a soft kiss to the inside of Cas’ hand. 

“For as long as I live,” Cas whispers. 

Sliding his hand to the back of Dean’s neck, Cas pulls him closer until their foreheads touch, lips brushing butterfly soft. They hover there, breathing in each other, until Cas can’t hold back and finally, _finally_ , leans in and kisses Dean. 

It’s nothing like Cas felt when he kissed Dean in the Djinn dream. It’s infinitely better. Cas has explored every cosmos in the universe, felt the heat of an exploding star at his back, witnessed the creation of the first human life formed miraculously from dust and none of it compares to the feel of Dean’s lips on his. 

Groaning deep in his throat, Cas tightens his grip and tugs Dean closer, licking open his mouth, greedy to taste as much of him as he’s allowed. Dean, clearly just as eager as Cas is, releases his hold on Cas’ hand and reaches up to grip his shoulder, fully climbing right into Cas’ lap. His arms move up and around Cas’ neck, getting comfortable, and then he claims Cas’ mouth in a heated kiss. 

They make out like this, Dean straddling Cas on the bed in the dim light, hands exploring each other, trading slow kisses. More than anything, Cas wants to freeze this moment and stay here with Dean like this, forget about Chuck and about the rest of the world. Nothing exists except for Dean’s body warm against his, the quiet whines leaving his throat while they kiss, and the wet slide of their lips together. 

Dean pulls back at some point, desperate for air, dragging his mouth down Cas' jawline and panting against his skin. “Can we?” Dean gasps, kissing the notch of skin beneath Cas’ ear. He doesn’t finish his sentence, but Cas doesn’t need him to. 

“Please.” Cas’ hands settle on Dean’s hips as he dips his head down, kissing Dean’s neck until he reaches his collarbone, sucking there until a mark is left by his mouth and Dean is trembling in his arms. 

He leans back, taking the sight of Dean in -- flushed cheeks, swollen lips, messy hair, and pupils dilated in arousal. “Gorgeous,” Cas murmurs, approvingly. He smiles when Dean blushes more, ducking his head. Cas feels Dean’s fingers brush his own, as they slip under Dean’s t-shirt and pull it off in one smooth motion. 

With so much of Dean’s skin bared before him, Cas has the urge to taste, and so he arches down, tongue tracing a line down Dean’s chest until he reaches one of Dean’s nipples. Flicking his tongue over the nub, he sucks it into his mouth until it hardens against his tongue. Dean’s hands slide up into his hair, tugging, and he whines, hips rolling. Cas can feel Dean’s cock hard even inside his pants, and it sparks something inside him, sending bursts of electricity down his spine. He needs more, wants Dean in any way he can have him. 

Dean moves off Cas’ lap briefly, only to slide the rest of his clothes off and leave him naked, and then he climbs back onto Cas and _grinds_. He moves slow, gasping as the head of his cock -- flushed red and leaking at the tip - rubs against the fabric of Cas’ pants. 

It’s overwhelming, having Dean naked in his arms and _his_. Cas surges forward to kiss him, claiming Dean’s mouth and messily kissing his face, any part of his skin Cas can reach. 

“Yeah,” Dean groans, hands sliding up Cas’ chest to work at his tie. “I wanna see you.” He pushes off Cas’ coat with eager hands, undoing his tie with efficiency while they kiss, until Cas is only in his white shirt and slacks. They keep kissing, messy and wet, Dean grinding helplessly against him, getting more desperate by the increase of sounds coming from his throat. 

Cas breaks out of the kiss, carefully maneuvering Dean off of him so he can get up, and strip him out of the rest of his clothing. Dean sits back on the bed, naked, and unabashedly drinks him in. Cas’ humanness is overpowering at this moment, making him blush as he crawls back onto the bed, moving to hover over Dean. Fingertips trail up his stomach, tracing over his skin, and he locks eyes with Dean. The heat of their shared gaze rocks him right to the core.. 

“What do you need?” Cas asks. He may not have done this with a man before, but he’s willing to do whatever Dean wants him to.

Dean traces his fingers back down Cas’ chest, the other hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Just wanna feel you.”

Cas can work with that. He lowers himself down onto the bed, moving onto his side to face Dean, and reaches out. Their fingers catch and Dean tangles them with his own, pulling Cas close until their bodies are flush together, legs intertwined, and cocks bumping together. 

A breathy gasp leaves Cas’ lips when Dean starts grinding against him, every roll of his hips sending a rush of arousal through his body. He leans in, kissing Dean like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, and matches Dean’s pace of rocking their hips together. It’s too much. Tears prick at his eyes. He’s utterly overwhelmed with love for Dean and can feel himself quickly falling apart. 

Dean’s hands stroke up and down Cas’ back trying to bring their bodies closer, but there’s no space left between them. Kisses turn into open-mouthed panting, lips brushing, and foreheads pressed together. Slipping a hand between their bodies, Cas works his fist around their cocks and gives a few gentle strokes, gliding his thumb over the heads. From that simple touch, Dean comes, right onto Cas’ chest. 

“Cas,” Dean moans, his name like a prayer. 

It’s the sound of his name, wrecked in Dean’s voice, that pushes Cas over the edge. He kisses Dean through it, even as Dean’s body shakes in aftershocks. Cas rolls his hips a few more times, chasing the high that is now fading into a dreamy sort of bliss.

They lie together, finding breath again, bodies twined together. Come is drying on his skin in a way that's rather gross, but Cas doesn’t have it in himself to move. His eyes flutter open and he finds Dean inches away, staring back at him, a dopey smile on his lips.

“So, that was -” Dean’s voice trails off, smile widening, until the words dissolve to sweet laughter. 

“Amazing,” Cas states. Amazing doesn’t cover the need to wrap Dean up further into his arms, and hide the both of them away from the rest of the world, away from Chuck, and just _be_. 

“Yes,” Dean answers, punctuating the word with a kiss to Cas’ cheek. 

Dean glances down at the sticky mess between their bodies and groans in disgust. His muscles tighten and he starts to pull away to get up. Cas grips him tighter, keeping him there. 

“Let me,” Cas states. Breaking Verna’s connection with Dean took a lot out of him, but a little grace has replenished, enough that he can take care of their mess. He closes his eyes, concentrating, and sends a burst of grace through Dean’s arm, making sure it cycles through both of them before pulling back. Sure enough, they’re clean.

“You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I didn’t want you to leave,” Cas says, honestly, and the look Dean gives him is worth the spent grace. 

He leans back in, smile widening, and bumps his nose against the side of Cas’ cheek before kissing him, short and sweet, on the mouth. “Not going anywhere.”

“Never?” Cas asks.

Dean moves, sliding down so his cheek rests on Cas’ chest, arms sliding around his back so he’s completely enveloped in Cas’ arms. “Never.”


	8. Epilogue

In the morning, right at sunrise, they head home. 

Outside, stuffing the duffles into the back, the cold snap of the wind chills Dean’s cheeks. Fog drifts in off the lake like a smokescreen, obscuring the view and shrouding the expanse of the lake in a golden haze. Dean looks over the top of the car at Cas, backlit in the sunrise that silhouettes his profile. His heart takes root in his throat, dazed by how ethereal Cas is and how he can _admire him_ now. And most of the time, Cas is looking right back. 

Cas turns, resting his trenchcoat-clad arms onto the top of the Impala, a small smile just for Dean on his lips. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Let’s go home.”

For the first time since Chuck came back, Dean is certain about what is real. In the car, Cas at his side, Zeppelin crooning from the stereo - he knows, feels it in the depths of his soul, that this thing between them is right. It wasn’t a part of Chuck’s plan, they never were; Cas was never part of the equation in Sam’s visions. Dean can’t help but see that as a grave mistake now, because for him, Cas is the most integral piece of the endless puzzle that is his life finally slotting into place. 

Out on the interstate with the highway empty in front of them, Dean slides his hand over, finding Cas’, and interlocks their fingers. He feels his hand lift up, and then Cas presses a chaste kiss there. Looking over in surprise, Dean finds Cas smiling, brilliantly, the sun a backdrop nearly as radiant. Dean knows at that moment, without a shadow of a doubt, that they will beat Chuck, save this world they call home, and maybe end up getting a little slice of the kind of life Cas dreamed about after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you loved this sweet story and art as much as I do! Go check out more of Gabester's lovely art on [tumblr](https://gabester-sketch.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> If you'd like to see what I'm working on next follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/anastiels), [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/anastiel), or subscribe to me here on ao3!


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